Awakened
by TheBooknerd
Summary: Chloe isn't the only one with nightmares. But what would keep a teenage werewolf up at night? Takes place immediately after The Awakening.
1. Wild One

**A/N: **This was supposed to be a one-shot, but Derek is just too fascinating to be left alone. The first chapter is largely inspired by Kelley Armstrong's online novella, _Dangerous_, so I recommend reading that first if you haven't already. Heck, I recommend reading it anyway. By the way, this is my first fanfic ever, so reviews would be exceedingly appreciated.

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing about the _Darkest Powers_ series except the amusing little fantasies in my head. I gain nothing from this story except a some entertainment during the many moons until The Reckoning comes out. Cheers.

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**Chapter One: Wild One**

_It felt good to run. _

_Freedom was the taste of grass and rain-soaked rocks at the back of his throat. Sticks and low hanging branches snap at his legs, trying to hold him back, but he's too fast and too strong. Above him the wind moves through tree leaves like whispers, quiet murmurs behind his back. He knows if he stays still for too long those whispers might grow louder, turn into slithering voices saying things he doesn't want to hear. So he pushes on, muscles springing and coiling, like an unstoppable force of nature._

_He revels in the power. It seemed like he'd been holding back his entire life, bottling up everything he was and everything he could be until he chokes on his own strength, suffocating under it. But now he's finally free. Strong. Unstoppable. _

_This is what he was always meant to be._

_He runs without thinking or direction. The _where_ doesn't matter, just this. Unlike all the other times when running was about being away, finding someplace new to start from the beginning. With the stares and the whispers. Everyone always watching you but never _seeing_ you. Not really. They only see the monster, can sense it beneath your skin no matter how much you try, and they're frightened. Clogging your senses with their sickening smell of fear. Distrust because you're new and wrong. _

_He turns left after vaulting a fallen log and realizes there is a direction, after all. A destination he's been running towards though he tried to ignore it. Up ahead he sees a break in the trees, a small clearing where the whispering voices die away until all is quiet, peaceful. _

_And there—waiting for him. He knew better than to hope for presents, so he is surprised and pleased to see her. That solemn face more familiar to him than his own. He has memorized her with sideways glances. Stolen little pieces of her, bit by bit. Then at night, in the dark, he would put the pieces together like a puzzle—first examining each piece; learn its colors and contours until he understands how it fits to another piece. Adding to the picture, one by one, always stopping to make sure that, yes, he has it right. He knows what the picture really looks like. _

_Now, though, in this quiet space where everything is safe, he dares to look at her and see her for what he knows her to be: his. His to hold and protect, to keep by his side. His mate. All suspicious eyes, pale face, and cool hands. Hands that touch him when others stay far, far away. Showing him for the first time that he can be real person, too. Hands on his skin, cool and soothing, and yet they make everything so hot. He doesn't question why she isn't afraid of being too close. He just pulls her closer. Closer. Until he can smell that delicate lure—his own scent on her skin, her breath. Lets everything go and just falls. In this place where it's only the two of them he can let loose all that strangled passion and intensity. Wild impulses fire through his brain, transmitting instantly to feverish lips and grasping fingers that bite just hard enough into slick flesh. She embraces it, embraces him, because she already knows what's under his skin, and yet she comes back for more. _

_She feels so sweet under him._

_And in the furious desire, the simple act of allowing himself to _want_…comes something clean, pure, sacred. A piece of his own puzzle he has never offered anyone else, not even the ones who matter. He could give her that. It would be hers and she would keep it. But will she know what it means? Maybe yes. He could tell her and she would believe, would want that. Him. _

"_Chloe. I—" _

_But the voices have come back. Quiet little voices that go around and around until he can't hear himself anymore. Voices that tell him _no_._

"_Not for you. Never you. Too dangerous, that one. Can't trust him. Can't trust you. Hurts her. Makes her scream. Dangerous." _

_And she's there. Bruised up, flinching, bleeding in the dark. Wait. No…not her. A different one, yet the same. The same kind smile that means she sees him like anyone else. Only she's not smiling now. Eyes wide with fright and betrayal. She trusted him, and he hurt her. Backed into a corner. Screaming and screaming and screaming. Snarling growls and whispering voices, screaming until the blood seems to be everywhere—_

"_No! Stop! Someone make it stop!" Don't let them hurt her. Hurt her. Hurt. Hurt. You'll hurt her. You always hurt her. Even if you say you didn't mean to._

_He wants to help, to make it stop, but fangs and claws and blood made it too hard to see clearly, and he's only a boy. Too young to protect her. Too young to be everything for nothing. He needs to find someone—someone who can be strong so he can just be a boy. But when he tries to run away the noises are worse, growls turning thick and wet in the night. Surrounding him, seeping into him. He feels the liquid pooling on his own tongue, his claws tearing through softness, silky hair tangled in his teeth. And the screaming screaming screamingscreamsshekeepsscreaming._

"_Little beast."_

*****

Derek slammed into consciousness with the sour threat of bile in his mouth. Throwing himself out of bed at a near-run, he was all the way across the room before he realized he was awake. And that running from nightmares only worked in an abstract, psychological kind of way.

He leaned back against the wall because his legs were trembling too much to be trusted with holding up two hundred-twenty pounds of hysterical werewolf. For a full minute he didn't move, just concentrated on breathing and thinking of nothing. Two minutes. Five. Maybe, could have been ten.

By the time he was absolutely, positively certain he wasn't going to lose it, the room had turned gray with the approach of dawn. The dim light was enough for his eyes to pick out the mismatched furnishings and out-dated wallpaper of his borrowed bedroom. In front of him stood the narrow bed, sheets and blankets dumped to the floor in his hurried escape. The luxury of a real bed in a real house should have been a comfort after days on the run. He should have been out cold, sleeping the sleep of the exhausted—just as his companions were, no doubt, at this very minute. But he was surrounded by unfamiliar scents, layered and faded traces of strangers gone by, reminding him that this wasn't home. Sometimes he worried he was starting to forget what home smelled like.

It didn't help that, for the first time since leaving home, he had a room to himself. True to Victorian architecture, the safe house was a cluster of small rooms crammed within the building's dimensions. With only two other supernaturals in residence at the moment, their band of five were spared the necessity of sharing rooms. It should have been a good thing. He knew the others relished some privacy after the last couple of days, especially the girls. Derek just felt…disoriented without Simon's familiar presence in the next bed. For so long now, his brother had been a constant in Derek's life. Taking care of Simon gave him something to focus on when everything else became uncertain.

So here he was now, the big, bad wolf, shaking and lost because he didn't have his little brother to hide behind. God, he was such a loser.

Figuring more sleep was a lost cause, Derek grabbed his jeans from the floor and an old, abandoned tee shirt from the near-empty closet. The fabric was worn thin and smelled strangely of broccoli, but he figured he was the only one who would notice. Besides, life on the run didn't lend itself to laundry duty, and all the shirts in his bag were uncomfortably ripe.

Feet still bare, he left the room silently, more from habit than any concern over disturbing anyone's sleep. He found himself in a cramped hallway at the top of a staircase leading down to the first floor. The hall extended to either side of him, connecting to five more bedrooms and a bathroom. He'd chosen the room at the top of the stairs so he could hear anyone coming up. Andrew was in the room on his left, across the hall from the bathroom. At the far end of the hall were Simon and Chloe's rooms. He'd heard Chloe claim the room next to the bathroom after Tori had taken the largest empty room down the other end of the corridor. Simon had waited for Chloe to pick and had simply taken the room closest to her. Derek felt his muscles tense at the thought and had to take a couple more meditative breaths.

At this hour there were no sounds circulating the house except the occasional snore or shifting mattress. Even still, the close proximity of six other people seemed to press on his awareness. Derek could practically feel their life energy crowding him, making the animal inside him nervous. It didn't help being in a house with too many walls and an endless collection of furniture and knickknacks tucked into every available spot. The house and the people in it were swallowing him whole, and the need to _get out_ had him down the staircase in seconds. He took a left at the bottom and cut through an old-fashioned dining room to reach the connecting kitchen. For once, he wasn't interested in a snack raid. His target was the backdoor that opened onto the grounds. Without conscious thought his feet took him out door, down the wide steps that led from the porch to a fussy garden and the forest beyond.

_Escape_, the wolf told him. _Get away from noise and smell of people. Go into the forest where you can run and be free._

But as he neared the trees which promised him relief from the claustrophobia of humanity, memories of the nightmare grabbed him like a hand around his throat. Derek stared out at his prospective sanctuary and couldn't breathe.


	2. Big, Bad Wolf

**A/N: **A gaggle of thanks to everyone for reading, especially those of you who left reviews. I love that you loved it. So much so, that I was hard at work, writing my little heart out, during my all my free time when I could have been reading Ink Exchange. Please review and let me know how much you appreciate my sacrifice.

**Disclaimer: **Nothing's mine, nothing's gained. Now, on to the good stuff...

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**Chapter Two: Big, Bad Wolf**

…_as he neared the trees that promised him relief from the claustrophobia of humanity, memories of the nightmare grabbed him like a hand around his throat. Derek stared out at his prospective sanctuary and couldn't breathe._

He didn't want to admit it, but he ran away. Just tucked tail and scurried back to the house like he had one of Chloe's zombies after him. Which, naturally, did nothing to improve his mood. Derek soon found himself where he often ended up when feeling out of sorts—in front of an open fridge, looking for something that could make him feel…satisfied. He knew through observation that most guys his age were walking vacuum cleaners, but they certainly didn't experience what he did. This never ending craving made worse by the physical demand of fueling a growing, changing body gone out of whack. All courtesy of his inner four-legged friend. Or so he'd always thought. Now knowing what he did about the genetic modification, he had to wonder if all young werewolves felt this edgy, all the time, always just a hairline from losing control in the most destructive of ways. Or if it was just another way in which he was _special_. He'd been trying to channel it into safe avenues—exercise, study, take care of Simon, eat constantly. More and more, lately, that wasn't enough.

_Maybe it's a good thing I'd actually taken the medication they gave me back at Lyle House_.

He went for the closest thing at hand—a tub of cottage cheese—and stood at the counter eating while he considered that. At first he'd palmed the pills, hid them beneath chicken bones or orange peels until they could be safely tossed down the garbage disposal. Not that he was particularly worried about side effects. With a werewolf's metabolism it would take much more than a normal dose to so much as make him blink. But he sure as hell didn't want Simon taking anything Davidoff prescribed, so together they'd concocted at least a dozen ways to avoid the meds. However, after a few weeks in the home, he began to think medication wasn't such a bad idea. The wolf dreams had become more graphic, more intense—as had the feeling that he didn't fit in his own skin. So he'd taken the pills they gave him, though he let Simon think he wasn't. He hadn't noticed any difference and hadn't really expected to, but in a small way it felt like he was taking control of the situation.

The morning passed silently, disturbed only by the various sounds of food wrappers and clinking silverware as Derek worked through the food supply. It was a relief, being able to eat openly. The constraints of Lyle House had often meant ignoring hunger pains when there wasn't an opportunity to sneak into the kitchen, and always taking less than he craved since he was supposed to be just a regular boy. Thankfully, anyone who might come across him now already knew what he was and wouldn't be shocked by the sheer amount he could eat. He just hoped someone restocked the kitchen regularly because otherwise, at this rate, he'd be chewing the table legs within a week. Of course, it would probably help if he went for a run…

He only realized his jaw was clenched when the muscles of his face started hurting. Common sense told him he was being squeamish, to get over his hang-up and go for a jog. Unfortunately, his common sense seemed to be failing him. He could list all sorts of stupid things he'd done lately, capped off by hiding in this kitchen. He almost wished they were still on the road; at least then he'd have something to _do_. Not to mention some company.

He denied, even in the privacy of his own mind, that he now was waiting for the others to wake up. As far as Derek was concerned, codependency was a bad thing. It didn't take his supposedly advanced reasoning skills to realize things would be different once they found Dad and this whole Edison Group business was taken care of. And they _would_ find Dad. He refused to believe otherwise, not now that things were finally happening. It was just that…right now, with Simon, Chloe, and—God help him—Tori, it was kind of nice not being alone all the time. It was tempting to fall into the rhythm of companionship, but all that would change once life got back to normal. Or, as normal as it ever got for people like them. He'd be stupid to get too comfortable because chances were he'd never see them again after this. Simon, sure, of course. But his brother always had friends of his own before Dad disappeared and all this started, so even that would change.

He was just sitting down at the kitchen table with a box of cornflakes when the first real signs of life sounded overhead. Someone, maybe Andrew, was up and walking around. Drawers opened and closed. Somewhere on the third floor, a toilet flushed. Then he heard what he most definitely wasn't listening for. Absolutely not. A bedroom door opened. Soft footsteps tapped almost directly over his head, nearly impossible for even to him to pick up amid the growing morning bustle. Only by paying close attention—which he wasn't—could the sound be heard. Yet Derek unconsciously went still, all his senses trained on that spot above him, tracing the movements. His pulse began to jump even as something inside him rolled over with a hum of pleasure, leaving him anxious yet strangely peaceful at the same time.

He was half out of his chair, about to do…something, when a new sound broke through. Another door opened. The murmur of voices floated through the wood. A small burst of feminine laughter, as if someone made a joke about bedhead or embarrassing sleepwear. Listening in, he could reconstruct the scene in his mind: _someone leans against the door frame, the posture of a guy comfortable with his own body. The easy grin that has made numerous girls blush. Simon's grin. Next to him stands a girl with a soft look in her eyes, the one she gets when she's half-asleep. The boy edges closer, says something silly as he lifts a hand to play with the tangled mess of her hair. She smiles up at him_.

And with that, a presence inside Derek sat up and seized control. The world went dark as an alien hatred took over, a confusing swirl of rage, jealously, and violence. In an instant, he was shoved back into his nightmare. The phantom taste of copper and a low growl filled his consciousness. His mind flashed horrible, wonderful images at him_. Chloe's smile. Chloe sleeping, relaxed because he watched over her. Chloe and Simon holding hands. Simon looking at him with a hopeful expression. "She's different from other girls. And I think she might like me. What do you say, bro, have a got a chance?" Himself there, pushing Simon back._ _Pushing everyone back. Claiming his mate. Fighting off anyone who tried to get in the way—fangs bared, lips curled back, claws dug in. Because she's his and no one was going to touch his mate but him._ A sick, feverish satisfaction mixed with the pounding fury and sent his psyche into a deadly tailspin. He felt powerful, determined, gleeful. _Dangerous_.

"Derek?"

It was the tension in her voice as much as the sound of his name that had his head snapping around. Chloe stood in the kitchen door, eyes wide with shock and concern. Derek instantly became aware of two things. One, he was on his feet, gripping the edges of the table so hard he'd driven splinters into his palms. And two, a low, drawn-out growl was rolling out from deep within his chest, quiet but unmistakable in the near-empty kitchen. Chloe's jaw slowly fell open. From across the room he could see her pulse flutter, too fast, at her neck.

Shame, so profound it caught his breath, sliced through the angry haze. The rush of adrenaline, dumped into his system then cut short with no outlet, left him dizzy and shaking. To his horror, Chloe came closer and reached a hand up to touch his arm. The thought of letting her touch him right now made him ill. He sat down before she could make contact.

"Derek, what's wrong?"

"Nothing. I'm fine." He suppressed a wince at the gravely tone of his voice. Judging by the look on her face he sounded far from convincing. She didn't push, though, just gave him a long, thoughtful glance before rummaging up a bowl for herself. Derek was surprised but grateful when she didn't say anything more. He hovered over his forgotten cereal and tried to look as if his stomach wasn't crawling up his throat. What happened just then—it was wrong. So very wrong he couldn't begin to analyze it. That he would event think about hurting—no. Never. Almost any other person? Maybe. But never Simon. His brother, his best friend. Hell, the only real friend he's had until Chloe. And Chloe…he apparently needed to stay far, far away from Chloe.


	3. Interlude: Prelude to a Dream

**A/N: **There are some scenes I wanted to write that just don't fit in the narrative flow of "Awakened." Thus, do I invoke the beauty of interludes. There's a handful of these floating around my brain, and I hope you enjoy the ones that make the cut. Who doesn't love bonus material, after all. And I just couldn't stop wondering, what might _Chloe_ have dreamed about that first night? Consider this a prologue to the rest of the story. Cheers.

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing, more's the pity.

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**Interlude: Prelude to a Dream **

_There's something wrong about walking down an empty street at night, but she can't think what. She's not even sure where she is. Over the last few days they'd done enough walking through unfamiliar streets that the scenery blurred together. What she really wonders is, why is she alone? There should be others. She can't remember the last time she was really alone. _

_The street stretches out before her, dotted here and there with green-tinted streetlamps. It's silent, complete devoid of activity, and could have been peaceful in a desolate sort of way. Except she knows she's being watched, can feel a collective presence following her every step. At first she sticks to the sidewalks where the tall buildings provide an illusion of cover. Until she reaches the first alley, a yawning mouth of darkness that could be hiding anything. She peers through and sees the glossy shapes of leaves, jagged branches. As if the street were nestled in the middle of a thick forest, in danger of being swallowed by the persistent vegetation. She can see no horizon._

_She doesn't want to be here anymore. A part of her realizes this isn't real, so why not a sunny beach? Maybe one of those high school loops that feel so dramatic but mean nothing at all. Instead she gets this and doesn't think she can leave. Something wants her here. No—not _want. _She is both master and intruder of this place, yet her presence is not hers to control. The watching eyes pull at her. They scream silent insults even as they beg. _

"_I'm ready to wake up now."_

_A dark lump lies in the gutter. A small body, barely discernable as a cat. She stares at it, unable to look away, however much she may want to. So she continues to look, even when the body twitches ever so slightly. _

"_I need to wake up."_

_She wants to turn away but can't, and the twitches become the flexing of a ragged paw. Tiny claws extend, dragging on the pavement with a barely audible scrape._

"_Stop this _now_."_

_A faint breeze. A soft brush against her hand. Something nudges her hip, gently but with enough weight to send her nearly to the ground. She turns, afraid of what may have come upon her from the dark alleys. Where she expects a half-rotted zombie instead stands a wolf. It's close, so close her lizard brain instincts tell her to run, to fight, anything. She just stares. It's a beautiful animal, made all the more so by the knowledge of how lethal it is. It was big, taller and more muscular than any wolf had a right to be. Black, glossy fur shines blue in the dim light. It doesn't move, just stares back at her with green eyes. A familiar, impatient look. The recognition disturbs her on a superficial level, yet her body relaxes involuntarily. She no longer wants to run, but she does want…something. Which is why she simply waits when he glides right up to her. Wait. He? Yes, that sounds right. _

_Again the scraping from behind her._

_The wolf tosses its head to one side, commanding eyes never breaking from hers. The scrape-scrape-scrape now joined by a soft rustle. The wolf shakes his head again, huffs in irritation. She knows what he wants, but she doesn't move, compelled to stay in place. She starts to turn back around but a short growl draws her attention. The wolf brushes against her, circles around to lean against the backs of her legs. His greater weight pushes her several steps, away from the body. _

"_Hey!"_

_Another push, followed by the click of snapping teeth at her ankles, moves her along another few feet. The noises behind her stop, and an internal pressure she didn't notice before just sort of…lets go. The wolf lets out another huff an gives her one last shove. _

"_Okay, that was just unnecessary. You know, not being able to talk actually makes you more rude." _

_The wolf doesn't respond. _Of course he doesn't_, she thinks, but she still finds herself talking to him. "So now what?" _

_But when she looks around he's gone. She feels the stirrings of panic. She can't be alone out here. Didn't they just determine that? _

"_De—" _

_She loses the though when the landscape suddenly shifts. The street disappears as if it had never been there. She stands at the top of a narrow flight of wooden stairs. At the bottom, a light. Dim, but enough to know there's a room below. Not enough to know what's in that room. She doesn't want to go down there; for some reason, though, she feels as if she's supposed to. Why is she supposed to?_

"_Chloe, you get down here right this minute!"_

_She knows that voice. She remembers this. Why does she remember this?_

"_I mean it, young lady."_

_Slowly, her brain fighting every step, she walks down into a basement. Again familiar. In front of her is a closed door. The sight of it makes her want to scream, but she can't remember why. She turns around to go back up—_

_The stairs have disappeared; instead, there's a wall missing. Hot circles of light flare at her, so painfully bright they make everything else beyond them black as pitch. She can't see them, but she can sense people in that darkness. All of them watching her expectantly, waiting for her to do…What do they want? _

"_Forget your lines, cutie?"_

_She whirls, trying to find the source of that voice. But the lights have blinded her and everything's covered in red speckles. She backs up to find safety among the lights, but never reaches them. The red haze simply dissolves into more black. _

"_C'mon, cutie. I've been waiting for you."_

"_Stay away from me!" she shouts. Gleeful laughter is the only response._

_She chokes on the sound and runs away blindly. For all she knows, she's running _towards_ the laughter, but she can't just stand there any longer. After a lifetime, structures come into focus up ahead. She aims for them; structures could mean buildings, which mean people. Her feet slap the pavement, each step sounding like a dry, brittle crack. She races out onto a field of gravel. A playground._

"_No. No no no." She can't be here. Not alone. Where was—_

"_Told you I wasn't done with you." _

_Liam's darker form separates from the shadows in front of her. Relaxed, unhurried. He knows she can't get away._

"_Did you miss me?" _

_He grins. She can see his teeth gleam with a wet shine. A visceral tug holds her in place when she would have run. Her entire body quivers with the fruitless effort to move. She realizes she's completely trapped. Her mind goes numb, filled with a nauseating rattle. The harder she tries to get away, the louder the sound reverberates in her skull._

"_Don't hurt m-me. P-please."_

"_If I don't hurt you, how can I get you to scream?"_

_Something inside her snaps, echoing in her brain like the shatter of bone. She falls to the ground. Liam smiles wider and creeps closer with every inch she crawls backward. Until she comes up short against an unmovable obstacle. A warm breath tickles her neck. Her spine vibrates as a low, furious growl emanates behind her. She freezes. Shudders. _

_And every muscle of her body goes limp with relief._

_Another growl, this time louder. A sound meant to terrify sends a hot shiver through her, all the way to her fingertips, and makes her toes curl. Soft fur brushes the side of her face, and she closes her eyes. Breathes. When she looks again, everything around her is dark. Not threatening. Just empty. Quiet. She's surrounded by an intense, drowse-inducing heat that makes her drowsy. She can feel his heart beating strong against her back. Hypnotic. She tries to stay awake, but she's so very sleepy. _

"_Stay this time," she says._

_Arms come around her. She can feel him, a large and imposing figure at her back. She should feel trapped, overwhelmed. She just feels safe. She takes his hands in hers, wraps him around herself like a blanket. Her head fits perfectly in the hallow of his shoulder. She feels him bury his face in her hair and inhale. _

_She drifts off into oblivion, reassured by the deep rumble of his voice._

"_I'm here. Go to sleep."_

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**A/N:** I realize that, according to the book, Chloe slept a "deep, dreamless sleep." That just didn't work for me, though, so I flexed a little creative license. Hope you liked it. As for the main story, Chapter Three is in its final stages and will be up in the near future.


	4. Never Not Fine

**A/N:** To all my readers who have been making me blush with your lovely compliments, I give you Chapter Three a day earlier than planned. And yes, things are actually going to start _happening _soon. But mostly I'm going to fixate on Derek some more.

**Disclaimer:** Nothing here belongs to me, except maybe Jeff and Carol. But I'll trade them for Derek--a two for one special.

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**Chapter Three: Never Not Fine**

_That he would ever think about hurting—no. Never. Almost any other person? Maybe. But never Simon. His brother, his best friend. Hell, the only real friend he's had until Chloe. And Chloe…he apparently needed to stay far, far away from Chloe._

Chloe was nervous. Worse yet, Derek was making her nervous, which she thought wasn't possible anymore. Watch a guy sprout fur and fangs, and you should pretty much be immune to his weirdness; however, she hadn't counted on walking in on…whatever that just was.

She sat down at the table and looked over to where he was clearly ignoring her. His eyes were on his bowl, but she had a feeling he saw something very different. He was perfectly still save for deep, deliberate-looking breaths. Were this anyone other than Derek Souza she would have said he was afraid. Which left only one possible reason for his odd behavior—the Change. He did seem a little pale, that being unusual enough in itself to concern her. He wasn't scratching, though, and as for the muscle spasms…She noticed for the first time just how thin his shirt was. The contours of his shoulders and biceps were clearly defined, for once not buried under a baggy sweatshirt. It was, quite frankly, distracting.

"What?"

Mortified that he caught her checking him out, Chloe wrenched her eyes back to his face. Judging by his glare, he wasn't happy to be stared at, so she desperately to think up an acceptable reason. "Oh, I just—" _Please don't let my face be red, _please. "The Change," she blurted out. "I mean, are you having symptoms again?"

Derek automatically looked down to where his arm rested on the table, but the muscles were still. Tense, but motionless. His glare immediately smoothed out into the habitual blank look as he got to his feet and carried his bowl to the sink. "No, it's probably too soon after the last time. Anyway, I'm fine." He left without another look her way.

Chloe watched him go, mostly concerned but—being honest with herself—also a little hurt by his dismissal. She'd learned early on not to take Derek's attitude personally. She had hoped, though, that they'd moved beyond that. After everything they've gone through so far…and after the dream she'd had last night…_ Right_. _My subconscious is not his problem_. She mentally slapped herself for being too sensitive. Besides, it wasn't like he wasn't rude to Simon all the time.

Andrew came into the kitchen just then with a cheerful "good morning" although his smile looked a little forced.

"Morning, Andrew." Chloe got stuck after the greeting. Now that they weren't in immediate danger of being captured by the Edison Group, she felt nothing but awkwardness with someone who was essentially a stranger to her. What does someone say post-kidnapping? _Nice to see you not being held at gunpoint?_ Thankfully, Andrew was apparently better versed at these kinds of situations and had no problem with small talk.

"Simon is getting dressed, and obviously Derek is up and about, but I think Tori is still sleeping."

"She said last night that she had no intention of getting up until noon. That's why she chose the room at the other end from us. And also because it's the biggest," she added with a shrug.

"Definitely Diane's offspring, then," Andrew muttered.

"You know Tori's mom?" Chloe asked. Then she remembered Andrew had been involved with the Edison Group once upon a time. "Oh, well, of course you do. Sorry. Stupid question."

Andrew laughed. "That's alright. Believe me, I try hard to forget it, myself."

"What about Tori's dad? Did you know him, too?" Chloe couldn't help but fish for information, though she greatly doubted he would come right out and say something revealing. If he even knew, that is. Sure enough, Andrew made some generic comment about never meeting Diane's husband before making his break from the group. Then Simon walked in and the subject changed to pancakes versus scrambled eggs. Content with her own breakfast, Chloe was about to leave when an older woman joined them.

Her name was Carol Brannenburg, and she was a witch like Tori. Or, rather…_bad comparison_, Chloe thought. Carol was as different from Tori as a hamster was from a Tasmanian devil. She was pudgy and wrinkled, looked to be in her sixties. She had a face like anyone's grandmother, though she kept her hair long and dyed an unrealistic shade of yellow. She was nice enough, though, and the caretaker of the safe house, so Chloe felt it would be rude to leave just then.

Andrew started a pot of coffee while he and Carol struck up that kind of inane conversation adults do when they're trying to be friendly with people they don't know. _So have you lived in the area long? Oh, yes, my family relocated after the war. It's a beautiful house. The traffic in town these days is just too much. I think it's going to warm up next week. Oh, just tea for me, thanks. You should really see the gardens._ And with that the two of them went out back as if this were a vacation at a B & B instead of an emergency refuge from some seriously twisted scientists. Chloe wasn't sure what to think about that.

"You sure you don't want any eggs?" Simon came over with a loaded plate in one hand. Cradled in his other arm were a jar of strawberry jam, a precariously full glass of orange juice, some paper napkins, and a fistful of silverware. He sat across the table from her and carefully unloaded his breakfast. "There's still some in the pan."

"I'm fine, thanks. I had cereal already."

"Seen Derek? He wasn't in his room."

"He was here earlier. Went upstairs a few minutes ago."

"That must be who's in the shower, then. Thought maybe Tori."

"No, Tori's still asleep." For some reason, talking with Simon about Derek in the shower made her uncomfortable. She still partially blamed him for the whole almost-naked-Derek-as-the-Terminator-complete-with-bulging-muscles fiasco. Not that she'd ever tell Simon that. In fact, a small voice of reason told her she was better off just not talking about anything relating to Derek without clothes. "What about the other guy, the other supernatural that's here?"

"Jeff? Haven't seen him. I think he has that other room down by Tori."

When they had arrived yesterday, Chloe had been too worn out to pay much attention to introductions. She remembered that Jeff McSomething was a half-demon of one kind or another. Also that he was a short man, fairly plain-looking, which was something she could sympathize with, especially since she kept thinking a half-demon was supposed to look, well, demonic.

Simon picked up his butter knife and started to reach for the strawberry jam. Without thinking, Chloe took it before he could and pulled it away. Simon looked up at her in surprise, and she blushed a little when she realized what she'd just done. "I, um, don't think you're supposed to have that."

"Aw c'mon, Chloe. You're obviously spending too much time around my brother. It's not like a little jam is going to put me in a coma."

Chloe wavered, feeling foolish, especially when Simon gave her one of his charming smiles and held out his hand for the jar. She was about to pass it back when another, much larger hand plucked it out her grip. A few weeks ago, she might have jumped at the sudden presence, but now she just looked up at Derek. Simon scowled as his brother began to walk away with the jar. A few steps past Derek stopped, came back, took three of Simon's four slices of toast plus the butter knife, and continued on.

"Hey, I'm starving here," Simon called over his shoulder. Derek just grunted in response and rummaged around the cabinets. He came back over to the table, taking his former seat with a cup of coffee and the toast, generously slathered with jam. He set a grapefruit next to Simon's plate. "You suck," Simon said.

Chloe, for her part, was trying to not be obvious as she looked Derek over. He didn't look at her, which wasn't that unusual. And he acted like nothing had happened earlier, which was expected. His hair was still wet from his shower, but he was wearing the same shirt as earlier. She wasn't used to seeing him in short sleeves and had a hard time not eying the muscles of his arms and shoulders. She tried telling herself she was just looking for telltale spasms, but his face showed no signs of fever, and she knew he was right about not changing in the immediate future.

"—all the more reason, then. What do you think, Chloe?"

"I—What?"

"If the Edison people aren't expecting us to go on the offensive, we need to hit them now," Simon explained. "They won't be ready for it."

"And neither will we," Derek cut in with a frown. "They're going to expect us to run and hide, so we have time to come up with a plan. A _real_ plan," he emphasized when Simon looked to interrupt. "And we ought to use that time to prepare ourselves. Practice our abilities. And Chloe, Simon can show you some self-defense like we talked about."

That idea was enough to quiet Simon's protests. Chloe herself was all too happy to put off storming a well-secured, secret facility with a handful of teenagers. However, the reminder that Derek himself didn't want to teach her how to fight irritated her. She felt…unwanted. Like when Brent Matthews had started avoiding her at school because he thought she had a crush on him.

"What did you have in mind," she finally asked.

"Andrew's called in the other supernaturals he told us about. They're going to meet up with us here. In the meantime, Simon, Andrew can help you with the location spell to find Dad. Maybe even teach you some new ones. We could probably ask Carol to work with Tori on her magic, too."

"What about us?" Chloe asked him. "You said werewolves and necromancers are rare, right? So is anyone going to help us with our powers?"

Derek looked uncertain for a moment but hid it quickly behind his usual, impatient glower. "We'll ask Andrew about that. He may know another necro you could talk to."

"And you?"

"Don't worry about me. The Change will come along on its own. No training needed, there." He shared a look with her, for once revealing enough for her to catch of note of bitterness. And fear.

"It's the Pack, isn't it?" she asked.

Derek's expression tightened, especially when Simon perked up, sensing things not being said.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he said. And clearly didn't want to.

_Well, too flipping bad_, she thought, inexplicably annoyed with him.

"The Syracuse Pack? What about them?" Simon looked from one to the other, confused.

Chloe turned to Simon. "Derek's going to forgo getting help with the Change because they might hurt him for being on their territory."

"Would they really? I thought that was just hype."

"I don't _need_ help with the Change," Derek glared at them both before focusing back on her. "It happens involuntarily, so it's not like I could do it wrong. You've seen that for yourself. Besides, I thought you wanted me to stay away from the Pack."

"And I thought you didn't believe what Liam said about them," she shot back.

"Wait, who's Liam?" Simon injected, but both Chloe and Derek seemed to have forgotten he was there.

"Just because no one's going to break out the chainsaws doesn't mean they'll be happy to see me. And all this is pointless because, again, I don't need help."

"You know, the tough-guy act gets old. You can't tell me you're not worried about the Changes. You're right about one thing—I've seen it myself."

"Look, Chloe, I think I've got a better idea than you about what's going on with my own body—"

"Which might be true if the whole lot of us weren't walking science experiments!"

Derek paused in whatever he was about to say, his expression softening a little. "Chloe—"

"We have no idea what they did," she said, hearing the tremor in her voice. "So it's just plain _stupid_ for you to pull this stoic crap—" She was a little regretful when all gentler emotions were wiped away from his face, most likely due to the insult to his intelligence.

"Okay, time out," Simon stood, looking disgruntled. "As interesting as this is to watch, you two need to answer a few questions. Starting with, what the hell are you talking about? Who's Liam? And why does he have a chainsaw?"

"Not him, the Pack," Derek supplied.

"Oh, that helps. Start talking."

Neither of them answered, locked in an exchange of glares. Chloe felt her heartbeat race, surprised to have butted heads with Derek like that, but more surprised that he'd argued it out with her instead of brushing her off like usual. Maybe they'd been around Tori and Simon too long.

"Talking is probably a good idea," Andrew said from the doorway, startling her and Simon. Derek, astonishingly, also jumped a little. "We also need to start planning where to go from here. Is Tori awake yet?"

"And we should fetch Jeffrey, too," Carol added from behind him.

"I'll go check on Tori." Chloe hurried out, eager to end the staring match with Derek. Her hands were shaking and she wasn't sure where all that had come from. She'd meant what she said. Or, rather, shouted. Derek's superior attitude really got on her nerves, sometimes; however, she didn't trust that the Pack _wouldn't_ hurt him. So why had she given him a hard time about it?

_Because he keeps pushing you away_, she thought suddenly. _And you want to get closer._

Did she really, Chloe wondered. Did she want more from Derek than what he was giving?

The answer was starting to feel like a resounding _yes_.


	5. Be a Good Boy

**Disclaimer: **If I owned _Darkest Powers _I wouldn't need my day job and could write more fanfic.

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**Chapter 4: Be a Good Boy  
**

. . . he keeps pushing you away_, she thought suddenly. _And you want to get closer_. _

_Did she really, Chloe wondered. Did she want more from Derek than what he was giving? _

_The answer was starting to feel like a resounding _yes_._

***

Derek watched Chloe rush out and fought to hold on to his anger. Better that than guilt for yelling at her. _Or admitting how excited it made you_, his subconscious whispered. He turned to Simon, who was giving him a strange look.

"I thought you and Chloe got along better now." Simon said it lightly but with a hint of protectiveness that made his back teeth clench.

Derek forced himself to shrug carelessly. He didn't want to discuss Chloe with Simon, not this morning of all days. "We're fine. Just don't always agree." He was spared further comment when Andrew came up to them. Carol continued to hang back. Derek ignored her wary glances and the way Andrew stayed out of reach.

"Boys, why don't we get comfortable in the living room while we wait for the others. We can get reacquainted."

Carol followed them through the dining room to the foyer. "I'll just go see about Jeffrey," she said. She waited until Derek was well past the stairs before she moved around and went up.

The living room was as stifling as the rest of the house he'd seen so far. A faded rug centered the room and reflected the sage green color of the walls. Two floral loveseats and a pair of matching arm chairs held the place of honor in front of a cheerful fireplace. The edges of the room were cluttered with flimsy tables, hard-backed chairs, and fake potted plants. A small television perched in the corner by the window overlooking the front drive. Morning sunlight filtered through the lace curtains to make everything look pale and out of focus.

Derek dropped into one of the armchairs and slouched until his shins hit the coffee table. Simon settled on the couched closest to him, but Andrew went to stand by the fire.

"So, Andrew, what do you want to know first?" Simon's bright tone didn't do much to disguise his lingering tension.

"Let's start with you boys. It's hard to believe how much time has gone by since I last saw you, yet here you two are. You've grown so much. I wish I hadn't missed it. You'd be in, what? Eleventh grade now?"

"Tenth," Simon answered. "Though Derek's practically graduated college, already."

"Ah, yes. I've heard all about your advanced placement. Think you'll get into one of the big colleges? MIT maybe?"

"Maybe. That's a ways off, still." Derek answered reluctantly.

"Yeah," Simon piped in. "First we've got to escape these crazy Edison people before we start worrying about acceptance letters."

Andrew chuckled. "Don't worry, Simon. Now that we're all together, we'll come up with plan to get you boys back to your lives." He turned back to Derek. "Relax, buddy, you've got your whole future ahead of you."

"Don't call me that," Derek snapped. He didn't mean to, it just came out. He couldn't bring himself to apologize, though, and glared at the floor.

The moment turned awkward, with Andrew looking hurt and Simon, confused. Then Simon launched into a ramble about his own aspirations to play college basketball. The two started talking then about the usual topics—sports, school, girls. As if everything was normal. Derek was all too happy to tune out. Andrew's paternal attitude made him uncomfortable, mostly because it wasn't directed towards him. Andrew made certain to ask him questions, too, but to Derek the difference was clear as day.

He turned his head when he heard steps coming down the stairs, too heavy to be one of the girls. A few moments later a middle-aged man with pale, brown hair, and skinny shoulders walked into the room. Andrew smiled and beckoned him over with a wave. "Jeff, excellent. Come sit. We're just waiting on the others."

Jeff gave hellos all around, even smiled calmly and closed-mouthed at Derek, which he appreciated. Derek found himself liking the man, a half-demon whose quiet demeanor gave no indication of his power. He'd been introduced to them as an Abeo, which Derek knew was high in the ranks of teleportation half-demons. Perhaps that power made the man confident, but, for whatever reason, Jeff didn't seem afraid of him despite knowing he was a werewolf. It was a welcome change.

With Jeff there, the conversation turned to more impersonal topics. They started talking about spells and Derek tuned out once more. With each minute he was finding it harder to sit still. The chair was old and uncomfortable, not to mention small. He was itching to get this briefing session over with. _I'll give them two minutes to get here. Then I'm dragging them down here even if I have to yank Tori out of bed._

Thankfully, it only took one minute, forty-seven-point-six seconds for Tori and Chloe to walk in, Carol not far behind. Tori, after sneering at Simon and lifting her nose up at Jeff, took the second armchair. Carol sat next to Jeff, leaving Chloe the empty spot by Simon. Derek looked away and concentrated on Andrew, though he tried not to stare at the older man. Adults always seemed to hate when he did that.

"So, kids, before we get into it all, I'd like to know," he turned to Derek, "what's this about you having a run-in with the Pack? Simon didn't mention anything about that yesterday. I know Kit told you to stay out of their way."

The semi-accusation caused the muscles in Derek's neck to tense up. "It wasn't the Pack, just two mutts outside of Albany. They tried to give Chloe and me a hard time, but we got away." He ignored Chloe's eyes on him, praying she wouldn't embellish his retelling of the event. Andrew glanced her way to see if she wanted to add anything, but she shrugged and said nothing. When Andrew turned his attention she caught Derek's gaze, her eyes full of questions he didn't want to answer.

"You weren't there?" Andrew asked Simon and Chloe.

Simon opened his mouth to respond, but Tori was faster. "Happily not. Chloe and Cujo got off the bus in the middle of the night so he could do his dog thing."

"Wolf," Chloe corrected.

"Because that's so much better." When Chloe just glared back, Tori sighed in exaggerated pique. "Meanwhile, Boy Wonder here and I went directly to your place. By the way, if we don't end up dying horribly like lab rats in a cage, you might want to rethink that bathroom tile."

Andrew's smile was bittersweet. "I'll consider that, thanks."

"Don't be silly, dear. No one is going to die," Carol huffed. No one paid her much attention.

"So the Pack doesn't know about you? You're sure?"

"Hold up, everyone," Simon interrupted, "you all need to rewind a little. Is the Pack really that dangerous?"

Surprisingly, it was Jeff who answered. "They're reputed to be, yes. They're a rather exclusive bunch, however, so unless you're a Pack wolf or close to a Pack wolf, you don't really know anything about them."

"What else can you tell us about them?" Chloe asked. Derek could the see the same worry on her face that she had after the encounter with Liam and Ramon. In the bathroom, right before he almost . . .

_But she turned away, didn't she?_

"Oh, I'm afraid I'm no expert," Jeff was continuing, "but I'll certainly tell you what I can. Let's see . . . The Pack Alpha, or leader, is Jeremy Danvers. Never met him, myself, but I've heard good things. Smart, fair when he can be, a good leader. Clay, now, he's the one to watch. He's a Pack enforcer, and rather on the temperamental side by all accounts."

"And does this Clay have a fondness for chainsaws?" Simon asked dryly.

"Well, I certainly wouldn't put it past him." Jeff replied while everyone ignored Carol's mutters of "never such talk" in her mother's parlor. "Of course, as I understand it, he wouldn't ever do anything that . . . extreme without Jeremy's say-so."

Simon didn't look all that reassured. "And what about non-Pack werewolves? What's the standard operating procedure for dealing with those?"

"Mutts," Derek threw in. "We're called mutts."

"All I could offer you is rumor, I'm afraid. And you've already heard enough of that, I'm thinking. It _is _clear that lone wolves are not welcome in Pack territory."

"Sweet little group of friends you got there," Tori commented. "I'm just saying."

Fortunately Andrew was already talking over her. "Well, as things stand, we can't consider the Pack friends."

"So you _do_ think they'll hurt him," said Simon.

"It's a possibility, one we can't and won't risk. Which means you'll need to stay well-under their radar, Derek."

"I think I can manage that, what with the whole living in hiding scenario we've got going on."

"I'm serious, Derek. You'll need to stay close to the house, preferably indoors as much as possible."

_Not going to happen. _"Good thing I'm housebroken."

"Sarcasm won't help us right now," Andrew admonished.

By force of will he kept back the retort that came to mind. Everyone was staring at him, and they needed to stop. Immediately. "Fine, whatever. I'll be a good boy. Now can we move on to the more significant problem here? Namely the guys who are trying to kill us?"

Chloe pitched in at that point. "Are we really safe here?"

"Of course, dear," Carol soothed. "This house has been a refuge for years. The Edison Group has no idea it exists. I've even taken the initiative to put up some protective spells." She pretended not to hear Tori's disdaining sniff.

"Which means we can take our time to regroup. There are some others who need to join us, but once they arrive we'll be ready to plan."

"Plan what, exactly?" Derek asked.

"Getting into the Edison lab, of course," Andrew announced. "How else can we access their files and free any subjects being held?"

"So we _are_ going to get Dad back?" Simon asked.

"Of course. And for that we'll need all the information we can put together. As I see it, the real wild card is you kids. I doubt the Edison Group will be expecting you to fight back. And they probably don't know what you're capable off. Chloe, could you tell us all exactly what you found out about the experiments?"

Chloe shifted in her seat, apparently nervous being the focus of discussion. "It was genetic modification. Since before we were even born. There were several of us, from each of the major supernatural, um, groups."

"Races," Carol politely corrected.

"Yeah. Um . . . They were trying to reduce some side affects or something of being supernatural. Except with some of us—_us_ specifically—they were 'unsuccessful' and actually made the . . . supernatural part of us stronger. The experiments failed. Which means they want to either rehabilitate us, like they did Rae, or . . ." Chloe's eyes flickered in Derek's direction "terminate us."

"How is it you were able to discover all this?" asked Jeff. "I understood you weren't held very long before escaping."

She didn't answer right away. Finally, she said, "I ended up summoning the ghosts of one of the kids who'd been t-terminated. Brady. H-h-he told me."

Derek sat forward, ready to jump in if needed. He knew Chloe only stuttered when nervous, and he didn't want them interrogating her. Then he remembered she also stuttered when she was lying. And she didn't really seem that nervous. It made him think. He thought she'd told him everything during their travels to Andrew's house.

"How did he know?" he asked her.

"After he was taken from Lyle House, he overheard Dr. Davidoff talking to . . . about the experiments." She looked at him a moment too long, and he knew whatever Brady overheard had something to do with him.

"What else did you find out about the other subjects?" asked Andrew.

"We're not _subjects_," Tori bit out. Derek could see the rage—always quick to rise in that one—in her posture. Not that he blamed her. Her own mother had treated her exactly like that—a test subject. He could certainly sympathize with that. Which only brought up memories he was happy to forget. He shifted, jaw tightening when his legs hit the coffee table for the hundredth time since sitting.

"Of course not," Andrew backpedaled. "Forgive me. That was thoughtless." He collected his thoughts. "Anyway, I think it's important that we determine just how these experiments affected your powers."

"But how can we if we don't really know what was done to us," she asked almost apologetically.

"Andrew knows," Derek growled. "Don't you, Andrew?"

Everyone went silent, causing the thread of menace in his voice to echo soundlessly. Andrew and Simon were both visibly stunned. Tori paled, but it was the scent of Carol's fear that made his skin twitch. Only Chloe and, again strangely, Jeff showed little reaction. Their passivity allowed him to stay calm. At least, until Andrew started shifting nervously. Derek's fingers instinctively tightened around the arms of his chair, causing the aged frame to creak.

"Hey, bro, chill. Okay?" Simon spoke slowly. "Save it for the bad guys."

"It's alright, Simon. He's right to be suspicious. And you're stressed. I can imagine the confusion you kids must be feeling—"

"No. You can't."

Simon looked perplexed and a little embarrassed by his behavior. "Derek. Stop."

Jeff spoke up in the subsequent silence. "Perhaps that's enough discussion for now. You only got here yesterday, and it sounds like you all have been through quite a lot lately. Some time to settle down and . . . decompress could be beneficial."

"He's right." Chloe jumped to her feet. "What we really need is some rest." When no one readily agreed she gave them all her best stern look. "Come on, guys. Haven't we earned a day off? What do you say we forget about homicidal scientists for an hour and explore the house?" She didn't wait for their response this time, just swept out the room. Tori was up and right behind her in a second. Derek took one look at Simon's face and knew his brother wasn't happy with him. He made his own getaway.

Simon caught up with him at the front porch.

"You want to tell me what that was about?"

* * *

**A/N:** This chapter and the next few have been giving me problems, which has made me sad. When I'm sad, I have a hard time writing. Reviews would make me happy.


	6. Complex Made Complicated

**A/N:** I'd like to thank everyone, again, who has shown an interest in this story and/or offered up encouraging remarks. Without you all, my attention span might have dwindled off by now. So, if you're happy to see an update, you can give yourself and each other a pat on the back for keeping me on task.

**Disclaimer: **If I owned _Darkest Powers_, I'd be vacationing on a Mediterranean island somewhere, living happily off of the profits from your book purchases. But I don't, and I'm not, so I'll go amuse myself with some free fanfiction now.

**

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**

**Chapter 5: Complex Made Complicated**

_Simon caught up with him at the front porch. _

"_You want to tell me what that was about?"_

Derek eyed his brother, Simon's concern and disapproval filling the space between them. He couldn't help but feel guilt for making Simon upset. After all these years it was second nature for him to protect Simon from the harsher elements of life—including himself. No, he couldn't stop the guilt he felt. The wolf, however—the primal creature riding shotgun on his emotions—was, in a word, irritated.

"Hadn't planned on it." He was very conscious of Chloe and Tori standing a few yards away, watching. Arguing with Simon wasn't on his list of favorite things to do, and he didn't relish an audience.

"Derek, you completely bit Andrew's head off in there. And for no reason."

"We're not doing this right now." He punctuated the dismissal by walking away.

"When, then?"

"Later," he snapped. He could feel Simon's glare drilling into his back but ignored it. He sidled up to the girls and was all for moving on, except Chloe laid her hand on his arm, silently asking him to wait. Of course, he did.

"You coming?" she called out to Simon. Simon hesitated, temper evident in the lines of his face and body. Ultimately, though, he nodded and caught up with them. It _was_ Chloe doing the inviting, after all.

In less-than-companionable silence they set out on a tour of the property. The grounds were as Victorian and stuffy as the house. Flower gardens ringed by wrought iron fences stretched from the front drive through the side yard. A stone path broke away from the main walk, leading them to a desolate gazebo tucked in among a tiny grove of fruit trees.

"So Carol's probably loaded, then, huh? To have a place like this?" Tori suddenly asked.

"Maybe not _loaded_," Chloe offered. "Some of this looks really old."

Tori nodded. "God knows the furniture hasn't been replaced in over fifty years."

"I think she said it was a family estate."

The two kept up the chatter, as if the tension between him and Simon allowed room in the universe for them to get along. Derek contributed a few words to the conversational flow as they aimlessly looked around. His temper had eased off considerably now that he was outdoors and no longer the subject of everyone's discussion. Simon, on the other hand, was obviously still irate and only conceded monosyllabic replies when asked direct questions by Chloe. Their unlikely group eventually made their way to the back of the property, passed a withered vegetable garden, and crossed a wide lawn that gradually faded into the surrounding forest.

"Do you think it's a good idea to check it out?" Chloe asked, looking through the trees.

Tori shrugged. "I'm sure Cujo will sniff out any danger."

Simon, having stewed in silence long enough, finally snapped. "Do you _actually_ have to be a bitch every minute of the day?"

"Depends on the day. Besides, I was paying him a compliment."

"Yeah, in your own messed up way, right?"

"Exactly." If Simon had hoped to put her in her place, the cheerful reply proved his failure.

"Hey Derek, let's go over there while these two bicker." Chloe pointed to a cluster of small buildings perched at the edge of the tree line. He shrugged and moved off with her, more than willing to get out of the line of fire. A part of him hoped the other two would stay behind, but he soon heard Simon's put-upon sigh, his mulish footsteps followed by Tori's quieter tread.

Closer examination revealed the buildings to be a utility shed, a carport housing a riding mower, and a squat building made of crumbling brick. Off to the side was a square of cracked pavement. It's purpose was made clear when Simon spotted a basketball hoop attached to the side of the carport.

"I wish I had a ball," he sighed.

"If I were you, I'd wish for two," Tori deadpanned.

Derek bit the inside of his cheek to keep a straight face. He knew his brother was close to losing his temper. Chloe, unfortunately, let a short laugh escape. Simon whipped around to look at her in reproach. Derek thought he looked most offended, not by Tori's insult, but by Chloe finding it funny. She tried to school her face into an appropriately apologetic smile, but the corners of her mouth quivered suspiciously. Tori just rolled her eyes when Simon snarled "bitch" at her.

Derek decided another distraction was in order. "Let's check out that other building." His own foul mood was already a memory, and he didn't mind playing peacemaker at that moment. Not if it kept that carefree smile on Chloe's face. He didn't see her smile all that much. Granted, they hadn't known each other all that long, and their circumstances certainly didn't really inspire grins. Still, she seemed like the kind of person who should laugh often. And the wolf was quieter when his m—_friend_ was happy.

He went over to the brick shed and pushed on the rusted metal door. The edges ground against the frame, but a firm shove had it swinging open. The dark, empty interior of the building emitted a smoky, greasy odor that made him sneeze. He realized what he'd been thinking was wood smoke from a nearby chimney was actually coming from this building.

"What do you think it is?" Chloe ducked around him to stand just inside the door in a wedge sunlight.

"It's a smokehouse," answered Tori, standing his left, "from those primitive, pre-refrigerator. You know, for smoking meat." She bristled when they all stared blankly at her. "What? So I like the Food Network. God, get over yourselves."

Chloe was about to respond when a chunk of bricks directly overhead broke loose from the ceiling and fell inward. Without thinking, Derek grabbed her arm and yanked backwards. In his haste he forgot to check his strength, and her feet left the ground before she landed in a sprawl on the ground. One arm stretched out to where he still clutched her wrist. Inside the smokehouse, the fallen bricks hit the ground with a cloud of dust.

Everyone started talking at once.

"Are you alright?" Derek asked.

"Holy crap."

"That was close."

"Be careful!"

Derek looked up when it registered that last was directed towards him. Simon rushed forward to Chloe's side and helped her stand. Derek realized he still gripped her arm with a tight fist and let go. Her skin was red where his hand had been, promising to bruise. Instantaneous shame forced him a step back. "Chloe, I—"

"You could have really hurt her, Derek. You know better than to toss people around like that."

He did. And he'd already made that mistake once before with her. Why was this the one lesson he could never seem to learn?

"Simon, relax. I would have been hurt a lot more if he _hadn't_ pulled me out of the way." But Chloe's words did little to assuage his guilt or Simon's anger, who didn't even seem to have heard her.

"You can't keep just knocking people around like a bunch of rag dolls," Simon snapped, a proprietary hand on Chloe's shoulder. Derek could feel the wolf inside shifting, creeping close.

"Was I supposed to let her get hit, then?" he snarled, his own anger rising up in defense.

"Guys—"

"You're supposed to control yourself so you don't accidentally put someone in the hospital. Again."

"Simon!" Chloe stepped in front of Derek, eyes hard on Simon's face, causing him to bite back whatever he was about to say. Jaw clenched, he struggled for control before finally saying, "Look, I know it's not his fault, but he could have hurt you without even realizing it."

Derek's anger slowly shriveled into a tight ball of self-doubt. He _could_ have hurt Chloe just then, and more than bruises. As strong as he was, how quickly he'd jerked her aside, she was lucky he didn't dislocate her shoulder. Or worse. Hell, if he hadn't forced the door open in the first place, the building wouldn't have started falling apart around her head.

"That's _enough_, Simon." Chloe's tone was so cold it visibly took Simon aback. Derek, too, was stunned though he'd witnessed more of Chloe's fortitude than Simon apparently had. "I'm _fine_. Derek _saved_ me just now. And you're being cruel."

Simon stared back, fists at his sides. Derek figured he was counting to ten before saying anything more. He seemed on the verge of calming down when Tori decided to jump into the mess.

"Don't mind him, Chloe. Simon's just upset because he failed—yet again, might I add—to play knight to your distressed damsel."

"God, don't you _ever_ shut _up_!" Simon raged, apparently more than happy transferring his anger to a favorite target.

"God, do you _have_ to be such a _queen_ all the time?" Tori mocked back.

Simon let out an inarticulate yell and stormed back towards the house. Derek watched him go, his own emotions too volatile to process. He was hurt by Simon's words, angry at himself for not being careful enough . . . annoyed with Tori's general presence. And afraid to look Chloe in the eye or discuss the purple bruises rising to her skin.

* * *

"That sure was fun. So glad I came along," Tori chirped, a sarcastic smile plastered to her face.

Chloe shrugged. "Seemed like a good idea at the time." And it had. Really, all she had been aiming for was getting them out of that awkward discussion back at the house. She hadn't counted on the awkwardness following along for the ride and exploding in their faces.

"You should have stayed out of it. You only made him angrier," Derek said in a flat voice. Chloe wasn't sure if he was talking to her or Tori. He was withdrawing into himself, Chloe could tell. His refusal to make eye contact was a sure sign that Simon's remarks had hit home. She stood next to him, willing him to look at her, but he just stared over her head into the woods. She repressed a growl worthy of any werewolf. How Simon could say those things, knowing perfectly well how Derek could be, what he's been through, she couldn't figure.

"Oh, please," Tori scoffed. "Don't tell me you're going to defend him, now. He was being a huge dick and getting on all of our nerves."

"He was just—"

"Just being a dick."

When they seemed inclined to start a shouting match of their own, Chloe sighed. "Come on guys, not you, too. It's barely even lunch time, and the day's already been a disaster."

"Hey, why should I have to listen to them bitch and moan? It's not my fault Rover's hero complex rubbed up on Simon's inferiority complex and spawned cranky, little issue babies."

Chloe just blinked in response. She wasn't sure what to do with that particular statement.

"So then leave," Derek said. "And I don't have a hero complex."

She expected Tori to hit back with mocking remark, but instead the other girl regarded him silently for a moment with a wry smirk. "No," she said, "it's all just puppy love, isn't it?"

He didn't immediately reply, and sheer force of will allowed Chloe control of her expression. Internally, her thoughts were racing. It wasn't the first time Tori had made an insinuating remark, but it was the first time Derek looked tongue-tied in response. A wonderful, hopeful new suspicion began to take root. Her mind started replaying every conversation they'd ever had, looking at each exchange through a different perspective. Could he really . . . ? Maybe Tori was just mouthing off her usual groundless accusations. Maybe Derek was just flustered by the day's tension. Then again, the idea of Derek _flustered_ was enough to send her on a mental roller coaster.

"Stop that," he suddenly barked at her.

"Stop what?"

"Looking at me like I just crawled out of a test tube."

Beside them, Tori snickered. "You probably did, you know. Or, perhaps not actually crawl, but I bet you were a test tube baby." There was an untrustworthy gleam in Tori's eyes, as if she sensed vulnerability in her prey and merely waited until the right time to strike. Derek, to his credit, seemed unfazed by that last insult.

"Tori, go away."

"Why should I?"

"Because if I spend one more second around you I just might eat you."

"Eww. I'll totally pass. Your little love triangle is sordid enough as it is."

Chloe thought she might have been offended, but Derek's expression was too fascinating. He couldn't have looked more scandalized if Tori had declared herself the mother of his lovechild.

"We don't have a—" he spun back around to Chloe "Why are you laughing?"

Was she? _Oops_. "Sorry. I just . . . Hm."

He obviously wasn't impressed by her articulation, if the scowl was anything to judge by. Not that she blamed him. She was suddenly feeling rather giddy and couldn't stop grinning. She probably looked a little crazy.

"I swear you two drive me crazy," Derek said, looking from one to the other.

Tori merely sneered back. "No need to be insulting. Naughty puppies don't get biscuits, you know."

He growled at them both and walked away, not unlike Simon's own dramatic exit; although, Derek headed into the forest, presumably to get as far from them as possible. Chloe realized she was still grinning stupidly when Tori raised an eyebrow at her.

"What are you so happy about?"

"Tori . . ." Chloe hesitated. This _was _Tori she was talking to. Not exactly the best candidate for girl-talk. She looked over towards the trees, dropped her voice to a whisper. "Do you r-really—oh, h-hi Andrew."

Tori spun around, also surprised to see Andrew walking up to them.

"Hello girls," he greeted them, but his eyes were focused behind them where Derek had disappeared into the forest. "I passed Simon on the way out. Is everything alright?"

"Sure. The boys are in a bit of a snit, is all." Tori waved a casual hand, indicating her disinterest in the topic.

Andrew frowned. "So I gathered."

"Yeah, well, as much fun as this hasn't been, I think I'll go find something less lame to do." Tori started to walk away, but Andrew turned to her and held out a hand.

"Tori, wait up a moment."

Tori looked over at Chloe and rolled her eyes. "What do you want?"

"I saw you and Derek arguing."

"And?"

Chloe stood off to the side, silent. She had a bad feeling about where this conversation was about to go.

"_And_ you really shouldn't provoke a werewolf like that," said Andrew.

_Yup, there it is. _Chloe gave the forest another worried look. Derek left just a short time ago, which meant he still could have been close enough to hear. She scanned the trees but didn't see any sign of him. Which wasn't all that reassuring. Not for the first time today, she wondered what Andrew could possibly be thinking. He was a grown-up, and a sorcerer besides. Wasn't he supposed to know about these things?

"What's he going to do, piss on my leg?" Tori scoffed.

"Tori, this is serious. You can't know what a werewolf like Derek is capable of."

"Violence, murder, supreme ugliness?" The boredom in her voice said even more.

Andrew sighed. "Tori—"

"Look," she bulldozed over what he was about to say. "Point one—you may be the boys' surrogate daddy, but I've got no reason to give a damn about what you have to say. Point two—Derek isn't going to do anything that might put a frown on Chloe's little face, so calm down already. The hysterics are getting old. Point three—I'm not quite as dumb or helpless as everyone here would like me to be, so why don't you just back off?"

Chloe was stunned by Tori's attack. She watched as Andrew gave Tori a disappointed look and shook his he. He then sent a tight smile her own way and walked back to the house without another word. Tori turned to face her.

"It's impolite to listen in on other people's conversations. Shouldn't your Merry Sunshine sensibilities be a-flutter? Aren't you going to scold me for being a bitch?"

Tori's face was set in a pinched expression, her eyes blank. That look bothered Chloe, reminding her too much of the altercation she witnessed between Tori and her mother. She thought about what Tori just said, knew that weeks ago she would have been appalled by how rude Tori was to Andrew. But something occurred to her.

"Well," Tori snapped. "Aren't you going to say something?"

"Thank you."

Tori stared at her distrustfully. "What for?"

Several thoughts went through Chloe's mind, none of which would have been well-received. _For standing up for yourself, the way you should have with your mother. For defending Derek, in your own way, and telling Andrew he wouldn't hurt anybody. For realizing that, yourself, when his own brother couldn't. _ "For being smarter and tougher than we give you credit for," Chloe said, instead. "I'm glad you're on our side."

Tori looked bemused for all of two seconds. "Let's just get this straight. I'm on my own side."

Chloe nodded solemnly. "Of course. My mistake."

"Glad we got that settled. So, um . . ."

They fell into a brief silence.

"Want to get some lunch?" Chloe asked.

Tori shrugged. "Sure."

* * *

**A/N: **If I tell you the next chapter involves Derek minus some clothing, will you leave a review?


	7. Under His Skin

**A/N: **I know it's been longer than usual since my last update. So, to make it up to you--and to keep my Derek-minus-some-clothes promise--I offer you Chapters Six and Seven, at the same time.

**Disclaimer:** Again, nothing owned, nothing gained.

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**Chapter Six: Under His Skin**

_Derek watched him go, his own emotions too volatile to process. He was hurt by Simon's words, angry at himself for not being careful enough . . . annoyed with Tori's general presence. And afraid to look Chloe in the eye or discuss the purple bruises rising to her skin._

* * *

Being a werewolf made life uncomfortable for Derek. No matter where he was or whom he was with, there was always _something_. With non-supernaturals he constantly had to hide the behavioral signs that screamed "not human". Among supernaturals it was actually worse because then there was the fear. The difficulty went beyond those generalities, though. For the most part, he simply didn't _get _it. He'd long ago adjusted to life on the "outside." City buses and multiplex theaters had stopped amazing him by the time he was eight. Humanity itself confused him. The way people acted, the things they said. Like high school jocks playing it tough even though they clearly lacked the force of personality to back their claims. Girls who flirted with boys they had no real interest in. Adults lying constantly, as if he couldn't tell the difference. Not to mention trying to navigate in a society that wasn't designed for his sensory ranges. It was difficult living in a world where he heard and smelled so much more than everyone around him. Often he envied their obliviousness, their limitations. So much less to worry about, that way.

That's why it was always easier—simpler for him to stand apart. That way, he didn't need to check every movement, every reaction. When he was alone, he didn't have to screw on his "human" mask and pretend he wasn't, well . . . _him_. It was easier to be alone. But it wasn't always comfortable.

Nevertheless, discomfort was something he was becoming quite familiar with. In the two days since he and Simon had argued—well, really, since the day he'd argued with just about everyone in residence—life had become one discomfort after another. He and his brother had settled into a cease-fire, but nothing was ever talked out, so tension lingered between the lines of every conversation. For once, Derek decided not to push and let Simon have his anger. The whole thing was his fault, anyway, for being such an asshole that morning. Sure, Simon said a lot of crap he shouldn't have, but Derek took responsibility for the degenerative direction that whole day had taken.

Even still, the atmosphere in the house was rather grim. Andrew was pretending everything was fine, which only accentuated the general moodiness that surrounded everyone. And it didn't get much moodier than Derek, himself. Unfortunately, he didn't feel capable of doing much to alleviate that. He now recognized the signs of an impending Change—shorter temper, restlessness, fever. Except something was different this time. For the last two days he'd been sporting a low-grade fever instead of the sudden, spiking fever he'd experienced the first two times. Each day he'd been certain the Change would hit, but nothing yet. The worse part was his skin. The itching had set in even before the fever, but yesterday morning the itchiness had given way to an aggravating sensitivity. He'd woken up feeling rubbed raw from the bed covers. Every inch of him felt sore and overstretched. He could just barely tolerate the abrasion of jeans and a light shirt, and that only through necessity. As it was, he ditched the shirt anytime he was alone for an hour, and he'd abandoned shoes entirely unless he was going out into the woods.

The woods were a welcome sanctuary—the only time he could get away from the others and release some excess energy. He'd taken up twice-daily runs despite Andrew's cautioning advice against leaving the property. Of course, even that one reprieve had its drawbacks. He still had flash memories of his nightmare from before—instinctual reactions to the horrific mental images. His throat would close, his pulse would throb. A miasma of urges would press upon him, some unspeakably violent and others . . . unspeakable, also, though for an entirely different reason. Each time, however, he would grit his teeth and run as if the Pack itself were on his ass. Eventually the animalistic joy of physical activity would take over. For the following hours he would be free—more at peace with the wolf than he'd ever really been.

_Except for the one time. _

The disruptive thought threw his stride for a fraction of a second, which was enough to veer him alarmingly close to a large evergreen. Cursing, he corrected his path, but the worst of the damage was done; unbidden thoughts came to mind, all with the now-expected focus: Chloe. These days she was never far from his thoughts, especially since she always seemed to be there when he turned a corner or opened a door. He would have thought that, a place this size, it would have been easier to avoid someone. And avoid he had, or tried to do, after what had happened. Thankfully the bruises he'd put on her arm were shallow, now only yellowish smears. He'd tried to apologize—three times—for it but she would never let him finish. He told himself to just be relieved that she wasn't mad at him, even if he didn't quite understand it. Not that he'd ever understood girls. No, if Chloe was content then he was content—a little truth he'd wrestled with, denied, and flat out ignored since practically that first day at Lyle House. But no longer. He was getting tired of fighting it, of pretending that she didn't matter.

He remembered the bus ride out of Albany. Chloe, sleeping against his shoulder, trusting him to watch over her during her most vulnerable—and dangerous—state. Before that moment, he had already grudgingly admitted to himself that she fell in that sparsely populated category: friend. That day, he had his first sense that, in a perfect world, he would have wanted her to be more. For hours, he'd held her, knowing she was too exhausted to notice when he'd slipped an arm around her, when he'd buried his face in her hair and memorized every nuance of her scent. Lost in anonymity, safe from their pursuers so long as that bus kept moving, Derek had allowed himself a few, precious hours of make believe, fantasizing that she was his. After all, it had just been the two of them—no Edison Group, no doctors, not even his brother. They didn't even have to be supernaturals. Just a teenage boy and his girl.

His girl.

Derek snorted in self-deprecation and put on an extra burst of speed, as if to outrun the ridiculous thought. Even had it not been for the fact that girls avoided him like a bacterial infection, there was no getting around one considerable obstacle—that being his own brother. Simon was the good looking one, the charming one, the normal one. From the very beginning he and Chloe had hit it off, meaning Derek was out of the running before he'd even laid eyes on her. Sure, Chloe was still a little put out with Simon over the other day, but she'd forgive him before too long. Besides, there was no way Derek was going to put himself between his brother and a girl. Simon came first, no matter how exceptional Chloe was. The two were dancing around the issue, now, but it was only a matter of time before they were together in truth.

She would never be his girl. It was best that he come to terms with that now before he did something that neither she nor Simon would ever forgive him for.

Derek burst out of the forest at a full sprint and was across the lawn, heading for the house, within seconds. He bounded up the porch steps in one smooth leap and stopped on a dime, chest heaving from exertion. He was starving, even more so than usual, but forced himself to go through his regular stretching routine. The breather did him good since he didn't want to go into the house until he'd had a chance to cool down a little. The first time he'd come in from a run, charged up with energy, he'd frightened Carol so badly she'd had go lie down for a few hours. Fifteen minutes later he was sufficiently mellow enough to go in search of lunch.

As usual, the kitchen was already occupied. Of all the rooms in the house, Derek found the kitchen one of the most comfortable. The decorative frills didn't seem to have made it this far and, unlike the rest of the house, the kitchen showed signs of modern renovation. At some point within the last three decades, in any case. He figured the others felt the same way because, more often than not, he found Simon, Chloe, or both hanging out at the table, talking and rediscovering the joy of free snacks.

At the moment it was Simon and, surprising, Tori sharing chips and a bowl of salsa at the table. Andrew leaned against the counter, a cell phone in hand, apparently texting. Derek was amazed to see Tori deliberately sharing space with them, since she made no secret of her dislike for either sorcerer. Then he realized that, between bites, she was nagging Andrew about shopping.

"We've been here for _days_ already. And, since we're obviously sticking around a while longer, it's time to stock up on a few essentials."

Andrew didn't look up from his phone. "Tori, we've been over this. This safe house is set up to accommodate anyone looking for a refuge. It's completely stocked with supplies and clothes—"

"Horrid, revolting, twentieth-century clothes that smell like moth balls. Thanks, but no thanks."

"We can't just go lollygagging into town for a shopping spree."

"Don't worry. Chloe's like, embarrassingly rich, so she can totally pay you back. And did you seriously just say _lollygagging_?"

"It's not about the money, and perhaps Chloe should be the one to offer or not offer her own money."

"Whatever. I need some real clothes."

"And I would really love to get out for a while," Simon added.

Andrew finally abandoned his texting. "Look, kids, even if I thought it was a good idea, I can't. I have some things to take care of." He waved the phone to illustrate his point.

Tori finally saw Derek standing by the door and smiled at him—he shuddered—before turning to Andrew triumphantly. "No one said _you_ had to go. Lend us a car. Derek can drive us." Simon nodded his support. It was freaky to see them working in cooperation.

"Absolutely not." Andrew frowned at them. "Derek needs to keep a low profile, you know that. Chloe, too, for that matter."

Derek would have nodded in agreement, but he didn't want to antagonize his brother. Much as he would have loved some new clothes, it didn't seem worth the risk. He heard footsteps behind him and went to stand by the table. Seconds later Jeff strolled in carrying an empty drinking glass.

"C'mon Andrew," Simon chided. "The four of us spent days out there on our own, and we did pretty well for ourselves. Surely a trip to Wal-Mart isn't going to up the ante." He gave a game smile that Derek knew hid frustration, but Andrew was shaking his head.

"We simply can't risk the Pack catching wind of Derek so close to Syracuse. And Chloe's picture is still being shown on every paper and news channel."

"He's right," Derek said. Then he had a thought. "It's better if Chloe and I stay here. You two should go, though. And pick a few things up for us while you're out."

Jeff piped up, standing at the sink. "I would be happy to take them into town if you need to be elsewhere, Andrew."

"Excellent," Tori exclaimed. "It's all settled. Let's go now."

Jeff smiled. "Or later this evening, perhaps. We could combine the shopping with a dinner outing."

"Sweet," Simon cheered. "I vote pizza." He turned to Derek. "Sorry, dude."

Derek shrugged. "It's okay. I'll survive without pizza."

"Who has pizza?" Chloe asked, coming into the room.

"No one, yet. Simon and Tori are going shopping later with Jeff. We need to stay here."

"That sucks." And yet, she didn't seem too put out.

Tori got up and rushed over to her, eyes bright. "Don't worry. We'll get you some decent clothes while we're out. And some other necessities. We should make a list. Come on, we'll go to my room. It's nicer than yours." She made a beeline for the stairs, practically skipping.

"I'll be right there," Chloe called over her shoulder. Derek raised an eyebrow when she turned back to face him.

"You two have been getting along lately."

She just shrugged. "I like to think we've come to an understanding."

"That being?"

"She's bored and doesn't want to be alone."

"Whatever works, I guess." He rubbed a hand over his chest where it felt like his shirt was dragging his skin in a dozen different directions. The movement drew her attention and he nearly rolled his eyes. He'd been downplaying the symptoms, but, more than the others, Chloe knew what he was like pre-Change. He constantly felt her watching him with a calculating eye, even though she always looked somewhere else when he turned her way. He appreciated her concern—more than he would ever tell her—but the mother hen act was wearing on him.

"Hey Derek," Simon broke away from his conversation with Andrew and stood next to them. "You should make a list of the stuff you need."

He started to nod in acknowledgment, but the movement seemed to usher in a flaring headache just behind eyes. Nausea welled up out of no where, making it impossible to hide his grimace.

"Whoa, you okay there?" Simon's open concern had him snapping his shoulders back and dropping the hand he'd raised to his eyes.

"Fine."

"You're—"

"I'm going to go clean up," he cut in, and walked out of the kitchen. He had just started up the stairs when Chloe came down the hall.

"Derek, wait."

He sighed and reluctantly turned around. She had stopped just a couple feet away, at the bottom step. She was chewing on her lip and staring up at him intently.

"You will tell me when you're _not_ fine, won't you. When it's time?" Then she frowned. "Unless you'd prefer I not be there."

He began to answer then wavered. It didn't seem right for her to worry about him so much, but he couldn't deny it felt good to have her care—even if it was just because of the Change.

"Yes, I want you. There." He cleared his throat. "I tell you when it's time."

She gave him a bright smile, and it was silly, but he suddenly felt great, never mind the headache. Then he looked up. Simon came into the hallway behind Chloe, out of hearing distance but with a clear view of the two of them talking. His face registered surprise, then confusion, then finally an impassivity that worried Derek more than an open scowl would have. Chloe, oblivious, started to say something else, but he cut her off.

"I need to clean up," he reminder her. He bounded up the stairs and out of sight before she could respond.

* * *

"I shouldn't be gone long. I may even be back before you."

Andrew was hovering in the driveway, seemingly reluctant to leave. "I'll have my phone, so just call me if anything happens."

Jeff, standing next to him, merely smiled. "We'll be fine, Andrew. It's a quiet town, but not one so small that we'll stand out."

"Right. Good. And you've got everything?"

"Sure do," Simon answered cheerily. "Got our shopping lists, got your money, got our walking shoes. We're good to go."

When they'd all agreed it was too dangerous to access one of the teen's bank accounts this close to their safe house, Andrew had handed over a debit card set up under an alias. In the account were enough emergency funds to buy clothes and supplies for the four of them. "Get whatever you need," he'd said. "Just try to look like teenagers wasting their parent's money and not runaways setting up camp." The plan was for Jeff to take Simon and Tori into town, just like a father and his two kids. They would hit a couple of different stores to avoid drawing attention, armed with shopping lists from both Chloe and Derek. They would even hit a pizza parlor and have dinner—and promised to bring a pizza back home with them for him and Chloe—just a normal family doing normal things.

"Relax, Andrew," Jeff was saying. "Nothing is going to happen, and we're not without resources in the event that something did."

Finally convinced, Andrew made his farewells, got in a car—Carol's old Cadillac—and drove off to his mysterious errand.

Just then Tori came slamming out the front door. "Come on, already. Are we going or not?" She breezed past them and headed straight for the passenger door of Jeff's Range Rover.

Simon rolled his eyes at Derek. "As if we haven't been waiting fifteen minutes for her to brush her hair."

"Hm. Listen, you'll be careful, won't you?" He hated letting Simon go off without him, with just an unknown half-demon to help him if trouble comes up. And Tori.

"Absolutely. I've done this before, remember? More than once." Simon grumbled.

"I know. It's just . . ."

His frustration must have been obvious because Simon relented. "It'll be fine, bro. Trust me a little, okay?"

He nodded. "I do. I know." He tried a smile. "Assuming you and Tori keep from killing each other."

Jeff joined in, then. "Yes, lack of bloodshed generally makes these excursions more enjoyable." He turned to Simon. "Ready to go?"

Simon nodded and said goodbye. They got into the car with an impatient Tori and left. Derek went back to the house and contemplated the next few hours. He was alone with Chloe and Carol. The latter didn't promise to be much of a distraction, since she tended to retreat to her third-floor bedroom when he was about. Which left Chloe—the very thing he needed distraction from. He couldn't name what was worse: the way she hovered like she expected him to start vomiting any second; or the battle he fought with himself not to go to her, touch her, keep her at his side always. _Maybe we should have disguised her again and let her go with them._

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_**A/N: **I know what you're going to say, and it's coming. I promise.


	8. And, Oh, So Much Skin

**A/N: **I just wanted to say that, when I had promised Derek minus clothing, I had only intended some shirtless yummy goodness. But everyone's reaction was so much fun that I just _had _to take a little more off. Enjoy.

**Disclaimer:** It ain't mine, though I wish it were.

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**Chapter Seven: And, Oh, So Much Skin**

_He couldn't name what was worse: the way she hovered like she expected him to start vomiting any second; or the battle he fought with himself not to go to her, touch her, keep her at his side always._ Maybe we should have disguised her again and let her go with them.

* * *

Over two and a half hours later, he dragged himself into the shower after his second run for the day. He'd lasted exactly twenty-three minutes watching TV with Chloe in the living room. Unfortunately, of all the furniture crammed in there, only one of the loveseats had a decent view of the television. And, of course, there was only the one TV in the entire house. Derek had tried to just sit on the arm of the couch, but Chloe insisted that he be comfortable. Meaning, in the seat next to her. Even pulling in his elbows and legs, when they naturally wanted to sprawl, he couldn't avoid the occasional brush against her knee or shoulder. He'd sat there, tense and rigid, neither knowing nor caring what they were watching. All his senses were fixed on the girl lounging peacefully next to him. It was agony. It was wonderful.

He finally took advantage of a commercial break to make his escape. He immediately headed for the forest, where he'd pushed himself as hard as he could, taking turns and jumps at a speed that would have scared him had he been paying attention. Now he was tired to his bones, but pleasantly calm. Somewhere inside of him the wolf was curled up, sleepy and relaxed.

He washed up quickly, since he no longer seemed to need to double-up on the shampoo or soap. Besides, the place didn't have the greatest water heater. He turned off the shower, grabbed a towel, and roughly dried his hair. It was getting too long, but then haircuts had been way down on his priority list for some time. Wrapping the towel around his waist, he stepped out of the tub. He didn't bother drying off any further; lately his skin felt too raw to be rubbing a cheap towel all around. He grabbed his clothes and paused to listen at the door. Normally he wouldn't have dreamed of leaving the bathroom less than fully dressed, but the house was nearly empty, and his itchy skin drove him nuts. Fortunately he could hear Chloe watching television downstairs, so he left the bathroom and padded down the hall to his room. He went in and jolted, nearly losing his towel, in surprise.

"Chloe!" One hand automatically dropped to the towel, clutching it in place. "I didn't—I thought you were downstairs."

* * *

Seconds before, she had been sitting patiently on the edge of Derek's bed while she waited for him to get back. Now she stood rooted to where she'd popped to her feet, eyes wide and heart in her throat.

"What are you doing in here?" he asked. "Is something wrong?"

She heard him speaking but the words didn't register. Some internal voice was frantically jabbering away while the rest of her brain was curiously numb. All she could do was stare. Lucky for her there was so much to stare at. He seemed taller and bigger than usual, probably due to the amount of skin currently on display. His broad chest filled the center of her vision, which made it –almost—possible to ignore the beads of water dripping down his long legs. And the tight abs that tapered down, down, down to—_omigod_.

She had expected him to come straight to his room after his run and decided to wait for him there. Ever since that day by the smokehouse she'd been hyper-aware of him, always knowing where he was in the room, ears straining to catch his voice down the hall. It was so distracting that she needed to do something proactive or go insane. So she was secretly thrilled to be excluded from the shopping trip. She had wanted to talk to him away from Carol's inhibiting presence, spend some time with him, so she could figure out these new feelings of hers, maybe even get him to reveal a little more of himself to her. But this was far more than she'd bargained for.

"Chloe?" He sounded more nervous than he had when they were being shot at.

She realized she was gawking and whirled around to face the wall. "Sorry!" For good measure, she slammed her eyes shut, too. Tried to remember what he'd asked her.

"Carol," she blurted out. She felt the confusion in his silence and tried again. "Carol is downstairs. I'm here. I m-mean . . . Sorry. Obv-v-v—You knew that. That I'm . . . Sorry." She shook her head at herself. _Stop being a spaz._ "I wanted to talk to you."

"You mean check up on me." His tone was matter-of-fact.

"There is that."

He sighed. "Can I get dressed first?"

"Yes! Of course. Dressed is good. Um . . . Should I leave?" Although that could be tricky with him standing between her and the door.

"You're fine as you are. Just don't turn around until I say. Anyway, you've seen most of it already."

"Right." She laughed nervously and concentrated very hard on not thinking about what she _hadn't_ seen yet. Wait_. Yet? No _yet. _At least, not yet. Or ever. Maybe. _Crap. She was even babbling in her head. She suddenly stopped breathing when she heard him close the bedroom door. Then she heard the towel land on the bed. Her system pulled a one-eighty, and she started hyperventilating instead.

_He's naked. He's naked. He's naked. He's—_

"So what's on your mind?"

"Na—Er. Nothing m-much." _Breathe_. "Just the u-usual. You know, kidnapping, murder, zombies. And you?"

"I really am fine, Chloe." A drawer slid open. Shut. "You don't need to worry."

"I do, though. The other times, they weren't like this. Were they?"

The sound of rustling cloth paused. "Not entirely."

Embarrassment was forgotten when she heard the thread of nerves in his voice. "Do you think this could be the final one?"

"Maybe. Okay, you can turn around."

In some corner of her brain she thought maybe he'd still be naked when she did. That didn't stop her from turning around, though. Anyway, he wasn't, which . . . _Good_, she told herself.

She started to sit back down on the bed then thought twice about it. Instead, she hopped onto the low dresser by the window while he took a seat on the bed. He was back in the typical jeans and a gray tee shirt. Chloe realized she had never seen him look better. The acne had noticeably calmed down. His hair, still a little damp, was in need of a comb and a pair of scissors, but she kind of liked how the black strands stuck up in back while the front fell into his eyes. Most of all, there was something to the way he carried himself lately that sort of demanded you pay attention. Even now, doing nothing but sitting there and scratching his shoulder, she couldn't look away.

"Are you really not concerned about the Change?"

He started to nod, then stopped and met her eyes. "I am a little. It would be different if I knew what other werewolves go through at this point. Sure, I've got some second-hand info, but it's just . . ." he trailed off for a minute, looking uncertain. He got up to pace. "If the experiments really did enhance our powers, then there's reason to think my Change won't be typical. In fact, we already know it's not. None of this should be happening for years still."

"Well, for the record, I think you'll be fine. I know I gave you a hard time about it before, but you were right when you said it would happen on its own."

"Yeah," he scoffed. "I just wish I knew for sure what the end product will be."

She watched him pace, his stride getting twitchier with each pass. He looked very much like a wolf, just then. "You know, I've seen you in my dreams."

He snapped to a halt, stared at her, and she realized what she said. Instantly backtracked. "I mean—your wolf. Wolf-you. I've dreamed about wolf-you." When he looked far too thoughtful about that she hurried on. "Do you ever wonder about what you'll look like? As a wolf, that is."

"Sure. Of course." He shrugged. "Though I shouldn't look much different from a natural wolf."

"Think your eyes will still be green?" She heard herself ask.

"Most likely. Don't see why they wouldn't be." He gave her a curious glance. "Why? What did I—the wolf look like in your dream?"

"Mm. Let's see." She tried to act like every detail wasn't stamped into her memory. "Big, first of all. Like _really_ big. Almost as tall as I was."

"That wouldn't be hard." He smirked. "But that makes sense."

"How so?"

"Physics. Conservation of mass. Since you can't ever destroy matter, mass remains constant, and all you can do is alter the form of matter from one state to another. I'll have the same amount of mass as a wolf as I do a human. Only, the typical, natural wolf weighs about a hundred pounds. So in wolf form, I'll have to be larger than the typical wolf." He smiled a little, warming up to the topic. "I suppose, technically, I could end up a standard-sized wolf if some of my net energy changed into a different state and was expelled into the environment. Except then I might return to human form half as tall. I wonder—" He ground to a halt and shrugged in a self-conscious way. "Sorry."

She shook her head. "Don't be. It's interesting. I didn't realize science and supernaturalism could go hand in hand." She waited to see if he would pick up where he left off, but he shoved his hands in his pockets and considered the floorboards. After a minute of silence, she was about to make her exit when he suddenly started talking again.

"What else did I look like?"

Chloe found it interesting that he wouldn't quite make eye contact. "Black fur. No surprise there. And the green eyes, of course."

"So what happened in the dream? What did I do?"

This time she was the one to shrug. "Boss me around, mostly."

He laughed, and Chloe found the changes in his face fascinating. It wasn't often that she saw him smiling, much less playful looking.

"What else?" he asked, looking straight at her now.

"It's kind of blurry, but I think you stopped me from raising a cat zombie."

The smile gave way to concern as he came to stand in front of her.

"Have you raised any spirits since we got here? I haven't noticed anything and just assumed—"

"No. Not that I know of, anyway. I think—" she broke off, looking down. She didn't really want to tell him the next part, but he seemed worried, and she knew he'd just nag if she didn't. "I think you—wolf-you keeps me from doing it. I think that's why I dream about you every night. You're like my Jiminy Cricket of necromancy," she joked. Then she caught a new wave of intensity coming off him.

"You dream of me every night?" he asked, soft and hesitant.

"Um . . . When you say it like _that_ . . ." Her voice floundered into nothing. She didn't know what to say and couldn't pull her thoughts together long enough to think of something clever. He was standing so close that, when he took another step forward, his thighs bumped into her knees. She started to say . . . something—she had no idea what—when she looked up and got caught up in his expression. He looked lost in thought even as his eyes traced over her face and settled on her mouth. She automatically licked her lips and heard his breath catch. He reached for the edge of the dresser on either side of her hips and held tight with both hands. His narrowed focus made her wonder what he would do if she tried to leave just then. Then he slowly leaned in, face only inches away, eyes sleepy and half-lidded. And she stopped thinking entirely.

She suddenly had to touch him. Before she had even acknowledged the impulse, she was reaching up, laying her hands on his abdomen. She felt the ridges of muscle tighten at the contact. And he was so _warm_.

"Derek . . ."

She stopped short when he turned his head sharply towards the door. An instant later he was across the room, too swiftly for her muddled brain to process.

"The—" His voice came out rough and low. He cleared his throat. "The others are back."

She could hear it now, the front door slamming shut and the faint murmur of voices. She struggled to catch up on the situation. Any minute, someone could come upstairs and find them. In his room. Behind a closed door. _That would probably be bad_, she thought.

"We should get down there," he said. He was back to scowling, no hint at the moment they had just exchanged.

"Derek, wait."

He was already gone, out the door. She knew he could hear her but he didn't come back.

"Someday you're going to stop walking away from me," she called out for his ears alone. She didn't expect a response and didn't get one.


	9. Interlude: Naming Her Terms

**A/N:** For my Tori fans, here's the missing shopping trip during "And, Oh, So Much Skin." You didn't really think I'd skip it, did you?

**Disclaimer:** I don't own _Darkest Powers_, but I'd be happy to take it off Kelley's hands for her if she got bored with it. I'm just saying.

* * *

**Interlude: Naming Her Terms**

Tori fiddled with the radio for the fifth time in twenty minutes, still pulling up only crap-ass stations playing crap-ass music. She sighed loudly, unceremoniously cutting into Simon and Jeff's conversation about teleportation. "This is so lame. And could you _possibly_ drive _any_ slower?"

They, of course, ignored her after a few pointed looks and continued their stupid conversation.

She had never believed in hell. Some goat-faced jerk-off getting his jollies by poking everyone with a big fork while they burned for their sins? Please. It had always sounded a little too theatrical for her. Besides, the logic never measured up. Everyone sinned eventually, right? Even a certain goody-goody teenage necromancer went around raising people from the dead, and if _that_ wasn't a sin then what was? So, if everyone sinned, then everyone ended up in hell sooner or later. Which meant no one ended up in heaven. So, what would be the point of it all? None, really, and that's why she had decided hell wasn't real.

Except now, sitting in a car with the evidence of her greatest lapse in judgment—on the way to _Wal-Mart _of all places—and listening to '80s butt-rock, hell took on a whole new definition. Which just pissed her off because she had been looking forward to this all day. There was something so very . . . _normal_ about shopping and pizza. And she missed being a normal girl, fun as the magic may be. Sometimes.

Carol certainly didn't want it to be fun. The old cow kept harping about tradition this and covens that and blah blah blabbitty blah. Until Tori had asked her what coven _she_ belonged to. That had shut her up quickly and ended their impromptu "lesson" that afternoon. A lesson that certainly hadn't been Tori's idea. No, _Andrew_ thought Carol could help her "adjust" to her new powers. Andrew thought another witch would be "a comfort" during these "stressful" times. Well, _Tori_ thought that Andrew needed a good kick to the head. Carol, too. She'd taken one look at the old woman and immediately knew two things about her: one, Carol didn't have a fraction of the power she herself did, and, two, Carol hated anyone with more power than herself. That was evident enough in the way Old Cow-Face sneered down at her like she was a child. A bad child, at that, one who always did the wrong thing.

She'd spent years putting up with that shit from her mother. All that time she'd thought she was sick, possibly insane. _Bipolar, my ass. _Always trying to win the love and approval that should have been hers by right. Well, no more. She was done with that, ever since that cold morning when she declared herself an orphan. Her parents were assholes? Fine. Then she wouldn't be their child, anymore. Wouldn't be achild, period. From that point on, she'd decided, she would be who _she_ wanted to be, and everyone else could just suck it.

* * *

As planned, they hopped from one store to another rather than buy several hundred-dollars' worth of clothing in one location, especially since some of the stuff Simon picked up clearly wasn't meant for him. Tori didn't have to worry about that so much, since the difference between her and Chloe's clothes weren't as obvious. They were at Fred Meyers, their final stop before dinner and then back to the house. As before, the three parted ways at the door after agreeing to meet at the cash registers in half an hour. Jeff headed for the electronics department while she and Simon went to find their remaining items. She walked right past the clearance racks, since Andrew was picking up the tab, and went straight to the good stuff. She grabbed a couple of shirts for herself and another pair of jeans for Chloe, plus a few other things, and then headed for the health and beauty department.

She had already bought makeup and her favorite frizz-controlling, curl-defining hair gel at the other stores, but there was one last item she needed. Or rather, that she needed for Chloe.

She knew, if not for the other girl, she'd probably still be wandering the streets, alone. Or even back with the Edison Group. Derek and Simon hated her. Andrew had no reason to care what happened to her, and she hadn't exactly endeared herself to him. No, it all came down to Chloe. As usual. Which was a debt that didn't sit well with her. Certainly didn't mesh with the whole "I am my own woman" thing she was trying to pull off. So Tori had a plan. She would accept the role Chloe currently played in her life. Graciously, too, because that was the mature way, and since she wasn't a child anymore she had to be thoughtful about things like that. But gracious and grateful didn't mean she had to be a deadbeat loser sidekick, like _some_ people she could name, with nothing to offer. That's why she had a plan, and it all hinged on . . . yes. Aisle 8: Shampoo & Hair Care. She rounded the corner and nearly ran down another person standing in front of a shelf of hair color.

"Shit. You're in my way, Blondie."

Simon groaned. "Don't you ever go away?"

"Would that I could. Now shoo. Pull-up pants are six aisles over."

"Ha ha. You're hilarious. As it happens, you're in _my _way, so why don't _you_ take a hike?"

She looked from him to the box of L'Oreal's Ruby Rush in his hands and rolled her eyes. "You've got to be kidding me."

"What?" Simon defensively clutched the box closer to him.

"Besides your lame attempt at winning the fair maiden's heart? Your choice of color, for one."

She grabbed a light, honey-brown shade and added it to her basket. Simon checked it out and shook his head.

"Chloe likes the red."

"Sure, and while you're at it, you can get her a tee shirt that reads, 'For a big reward, call 1-800-RUNAWAY.' Then maybe later, we can take turns painting targets on her back. It could be a bonding experience," she said in a sweet, overly cheerful tone.

He scowled back at her like he could set her head on fire by just wishing it hard enough; although he did put the Ruby Rush back on the shelf, she noted with a smirk.

"Don't act like you care," he sneered. "And I'm not making an attempt at anything."

"That's good, because you're _so_ out of your depth with this one."

"What do you mean?" he grudgingly asked.

"And I don't know why you male-types keep thinking you're qualified to pick out hair color when there's another girl around. Talk about ego." She went on, pretending not to hear his question. "You'd think after that last disaster you'd have learned better." She strolled out of the aisle. Simon fell in step beside her without thinking.

"Hey, lay off. Derek was only trying help."

"Yeah, well, he should stick to what he's good at, like sniffing trails. And what's your deal? I thought you were all mad at him."

"I'm not mad at him."

"Could have fooled me, the way you barely say a word to him anymore. Or did you think no one else noticed the cold shoulder routine you've got going on?"

"I'm not mad, I just . . ." He sighed. "I hate fighting with him, I really do. But he doesn't make it any easier, you know." Then it all just sort of poured out of him, things the guy had apparently been keeping to himself for days. "He's my best friend, but sometimes it's a very one-sided thing. Especially these days. You know, when all this started, it was just the two of us, in it together. We had to rely on each other to get through it. Or so I thought. Turns out he's been keeping things from me. Like when the Changes started, and that thing with the werewolves. I don't even want to think what else he's been hiding, like he needs to protect me or whatever. He doesn't give me _any_ credit for being able to deal with stuff. Just like Dad. Well, I'm not a child, or as stupid as he seems to think" he finished in a heated tone.

Tori didn't respond right away, thinking about how she'd said much the same thing just the other day. _Dear god, we've got something in common. _She shuddered. She hated to admit that Simon had a point . . . so she didn't. Instead, she pointed out Jeff waiting by the row of cashier stations.

"We'd better get going."

He seemed surprised that she didn't hit him with a snarky comment, which hurt a little. Just because she didn't like him didn't mean she was about to kick a guy when he was being all honest about his feelings. She wasn't evil, after all. Besides, it was kind of nice talking with him like civilized people.

* * *

"If you think I'm eating _that_, you really _do_ belong in a mental home."

Simon's sigh would have done any diva proud, but it did nothing to convince Tori that "Bucky's BBQ Bacon Supreme" was a valid pizza topping.

"What _do _you want, then?"

"Something that doesn't look like cat diarrhea, to start."

"Now, Tori—"

Simon bowled over Jeff's conciliatory words, leaning across the table to hiss at her. "Well, unless you can actually _contribute_ to the conversation instead of just _complain_ all the time—"

"Simon—"

Tori felt her eyes narrow to slits. _The nerve._ "You shouldn't point fingers about complaining, you little whiner. And I'd have less to complain about if you didn't have your head so far up—"

"That's enough," Jeff snapped with enough force to have both of them blinking at him in surprise. He continued on in a milder tone that nevertheless commanded obedience. "I'll pick something, and you two can either eat it or go hungry. Agreed?"

She exchanged a glance with Simon, who shrugged a little as if to say, "I'm not going to argue with him, are you?" They both nodded. "Agreed."

"Good." Jeff smiled. "And do try to remember, we're just an average family, having a lovely family dinner together. Very common, very forgettable." His tone sharpened slightly. "Too much squabbling and you'll only draw unwanted attention. One more outburst, and we're going straight back to the house."

The waiter came over, and they sat quietly while Jeff ordered a vegetarian pizza—to their open dismay—and a bowl of green salad. That done, he looked at them both and smiled. A little viciously, Tori thought. "See, isn't that better? Just one big, happy family."

Simon waited until Jeff looked away before he glared across the table at her. _This is your fault_, he mouthed.

She started to glare back, then smiled sweetly and turned to Jeff. "Did you know Simon's _horribly _diabetic? He should probably just have salad."

* * *

"Tell me again why I had to help you bring _your_ bags in first?" Simon complained as they dumped a load of plastic shopping bags on the foyer floor.

"It's called chivalry, you toad. Learn some."

"Yeah? Well, you're definitely no princess, so why bother?"

"You know, half this stuff is for Chloe, anyway. Does that make you feel better?" she sneered.

He flipped her off and headed back out for another load. She chuckled to herself quietly, then swallowed a startled yelp at the sudden intrusion of a deep voice behind her.

"Are you sure Andrew said you could buy this much?"

She looked over her shoulder at Derek, playing it cool.

"As if I care. Where's Chloe?"

"Upstairs."

"Might as well haul this all up there." But he stood in the way of the stairs. "Gonna move?"

He scowled down at her, not moving, but she wasn't about to let him one-up her in the attitude department. "You got mites in your ears or something? I said move."

Simon came back in and called him over to help with some more bags. Derek glanced up the stairs briefly then slowly left to help. Tori shook her head over how big a freak he was. _Not my problem, thank god._ She gathered up those bags she knew contained the most essential items and looked up just as Chloe appeared on the second floor landing. From the _opposite_ direction of her room.

"I _knew_ it," she half-whispered.

"What?" Chloe frowned at her as she came down the steps.

"Nothing," she said quickly. "Wanna see what I got?"

Tori wasted no more time dragging Chloe to her room to show her the new purchases. The bed was soon covered as she separated items into "hers" and "mine" piles. Among the shirts, jeans, and socks were a also few things Tori considered "girl perks," like lip gloss, some cool if cheap sunglasses, and—

"Tori!"

She looked up from the tube of mascara she was unwrapping. Noted the strangled expression on Chloe's beet-red face. "Something wrong?"

"I asked you get me some . . . some underwear, but I didn't mean . . ." Chloe trailed off weakly, holding a lacy blue thong in one hand and a matching, satiny bra in the other.

Tori lifted an eyebrow. "Please don't tell me you're still wearing day-of-the-week granny panties; because that's _far_ too lame, even for you."

"No. I'm not _that_ bad, it's just . . . isn't this a little, I don't know . . . much?" Chloe sifted through the small pile of garments and pulled out a pair a pink and black bikini briefs.

"And what's wrong with those? They've got a whole butt and everything."

"They have rhinestones on them!"

"You've got something against sparkles?"

"Not in theory, but . . ." Chloe shrugged helplessly. "Do you really think I need to sparkle, um, down there?"

Tori pursed her lips to stop the smile that wanted to break free. "Couldn't hurt."

"But _why_? It's not like anyone is going to ever _see_ the sparkles."

Tori thought of a certain green-eyed boy and almost hoped, for his sake, that wasn't true. "Never ever?" she asked. She was only teasing, really, but watched as a blush stole over Chloe's face. "Uh-huh. Right." When Chloe started to sputter, she took pity on her. "Look, don't be such a wuss about a little underwear. Besides, you're taking it all way too seriously. We're girls. Girls get to sparkle for no better reason than because it's pretty. That a fact of life. Just go with it."

Instead of calming down, Chloe just looked more scandalized. "Did Jeff see you buy these? Did _Simon?!_" she squeaked in a horror-stricken voice.

"Oh, honestly, would you relax? Your face is turning this unattractive shade of purple. You're a big girl now, try to act like it. And, no, they didn't."

While Chloe muttered to herself and loaded the clothes back into bags—frilly unmentionables buried at the bottom—Tori grabbed the hair dye that she'd kept out of sight until now.

"Anyway, you'd better stop bitching because I brought you back a surprise." She held up the box and smiled when Chloe's eyes widened, embarrassment on the back burner in favor of female vanity.

"Seriously? My hair?"

"Oh, beyond serious. That moldy mop-head look must go, and go tonight," Tori declared.

Chloe's hand flew up to her hair. "It's really that bad?"

"Really and truly. Positively hideous. But no more." She handed over the box with a flourish and waited for Chloe's reaction.

"Brown?" Chloe asked and frowned. "Or is this blonde?"

_Okay, not what I was hoping for_. Tori felt her shoulders drop and shook it off. "A little of both. Look, it's just for the mean time so I don't have to look at that god-awful gray, and—"

But she was talking to Chloe's back. With an irritated—_not_ disappointed—grumble she followed the other girl down the hall to the bathroom. She found Chloe in front of the mirror holding the box next to her face. "Do you really think I can pull this off?"

"Sure," Tori reluctantly answered. "The honey tones should brighten everything up without contrasting too much with your pale skin."

Chloe spun to face her with a wide smile. "And we could do it now?"

Slightly mollified, she nodded.

"Sure," she said again, as casually as possible. The last thing she expected was for Chloe to squeal and sweep her up into a quick hug. "Hey, hey! No grabbing!"

"Thank you, thank you, thank you! Let me see if I can find an old shirt we can trash. I'll be right back!" Chloe skipped out the door, leaving Tori standing there, staring at herself in the mirror.

"Huh."

* * *

Twice they had to run off Simon, who apparently found the idea of them doing girly stuff together too boggling for his little mind handle. Tori sort of expected Derek to mosey by at least once, but he seemed to be no where around. Chloe had been beaming with enthusiasm when they started, but in the last few minutes she'd fallen silent. Tori knew what that was about. As she worked the dye through Chloe's hair, she caught the considering glances the other girl sent her way. A few times she looked like she might say something. Kind of like she was doing right then.

Chloe took a deep breath and opened her mouth to talk. "Why—" Snapped it closed again.

Tori picked up a section of hair and carefully combed the dye through. "Why am I doing this for you?"

"Yes" was the wary response.

She had been expecting the question to come up. Anticipating it, actually. It was important that she make herself clear to Chloe, this girl who was her rival and her defender. The new, mature Tori could appreciate that Chloe was no longer her enemy—but only on her terms.

"When they captured me that night, at Andrews? They talked about using me as bait. To lure you guys out. But then my—they said I wouldn't be good bait. That you wouldn't come. And if were just the guys, they probably wouldn't have. But I knew you would make them come back for me. You're like that." She said it all matter-of-factly, but she avoided eye contact. In truth, she hadn't been all that certain that night if _anyone_ would care what happened to her. She shook her head and continued in a stronger tone. "Not that I was going to sit around, waiting to be rescued, of course." She paused, remembering how easy it had actually been to get away. She had a few suspicions about her "escape" from the Edison goons—about a lot of things, in fact. She didn't say anything, though, because—really—who would believe her?

_Chloe might_.

She ignored that thought and squirted on the last of the dye.

"Anyway, that got me thinking. They don't want me around. Derek and Simon. The only reason I'm part of this little clique is because you asked them to let me stay." She pushed on when Chloe seemed about to say something, and she so didn't want to hear it. "I'm a powerful witch, I know I am. But fat lot of good that power does me when I don't know how to control it. Simon may be nothing special, but at least he knows _something_ about what he's doing. And we all know Derek can take care of himself, and as long as he's around you'll be fine. So if anyone needs to be worried around here, it's me. And I doubt Mommy Dearest is thinking rehabilitation anymore." She looked up, finally met Chloe's eyes in the mirror. "If they get me again, my only real hope is that you'll make them come for me."

Chloe met her gaze evenly, though her face revealed none of her thoughts. "I won't ever leave you behind, Tori. I promise."

Tori nodded, the conversation over as far as she was concerned. "Time to let the color set. Want some pizza?"


	10. Crushing

**A/N:** I'm alive! I know, I know . . . it's been _ages_ since my last update, and I should be publicly flogged for my sins. But I'm back in business, resolved to complete this story in the mid-ranged future -- and with at _least _seventeen more chapters to go, I'd better get crackin'. As always, please read and review. Not only do reviews make me tingle with joy, they provide me with your valuable feedback. Speaking of which, credit goes to Ambur, who made a comment that helped me realize that Chloe's parting shot in Chapter Seven would be the first of several turning points for our favorite teen wolf -- a plot hole I hadn't quite figured out before. You get a cookie.

**Disclaimer: **_Darkest Powers_ isn't mine. Wish it were. I'm just playing with it a little. I promise I won't get it _too _dirty (pun intended).

* * *

**Chapter Eight**: **Crushing**

"_We should get down there," he said. He was back to scowling, no hint at the moment they had just exchanged. _

"_Derek, wait." _

_He was already gone, out the door. She knew he could hear her but he didn't come back._

"_Someday you're going to stop walking away from me," she called out for his ears alone. She didn't expect a response and didn't get one._

* * *

The next morning over breakfast Derek asked Andrew about the plans for storming the Edison lab.

Andrew stirred his coffee and gave him a patient smile. "I know you're probably getting antsy just waiting around, but I'm going to have to ask for your patience. From all of you." His widened his smile to include Simon, Chloe, and Jeff. Tori, as usual, was sleeping in, and Derek neither knew nor cared where Carol was. "I realize it feels like we're doing a whole bunch of nothing, but the other members of the resistance should be arriving any day. And then we can really get down to business."

"But can't we at least start planning our attack or something?" Simon moodily stabbed at his fried eggs.

Andrew shook his head. "I'm afraid that would just be a waste of time in the long run. Any plans we put together now might very well change when the others get here and add new info to the situation. No, until everyone's present, there's no point in making any decisions."

"Surely there are preparatory efforts we can do in the meantime, to speed up the overall process?" Jeff asked.

"Well, sure," Andrew conceded. "Simon, I know I haven't made a lot of time to work with you on your spell-casting, but we could do that this afternoon."

Simon hunched over his plate. "I guess, though I don't know why we should bother. None of the new spells you taught me have been working."

"We'll work on it." Andrew put an encouraging hand on his shoulder. "You'll get it, don't worry." He looked up at the rest of them. "Does anyone know how Tori's lessons with Carol are coming along?"

Everyone—except Derek—looked over at Chloe, who just shrugged. "She hasn't said much to me about it, but I get the impression that they've only gotten together once or twice."

It was clear that Andrew was disappointed by the answer. "Do you think any of you could encourage Tori to put more effort into it?"

All three teens snorted in amusement. "Because _that_ would work," Derek drawled. He glanced over, caught the smile Chloe was giving him, and lost track of his thoughts. She looked . . . different this morning. And it wasn't just the hair, though that was a distraction and a half. The others must have brought back some new dye from their shopping trip because, when she came down to breakfast this morning, the muddy gray-black hair that had been mocking him for days had given way to a halo of amber silk. Twice he'd had to stop himself from reaching over to touch. So maybe it was the hair, after all, that made her seem so . . . so alive. Lit up with a kind of glow that he didn't know how to describe.

All he knew for certain was that it—whatever it was—was hell on his concentration. Even now, he should have been paying more attention to the conversation at hand. Peripherally, he was aware of Jeff and Andrew debating something logistics-wise, and he was sure it was a discussion he wanted—needed to be a part of. But he kept thinking about what she'd said to him last night, about his walking away. Walking away from her, specifically. Did that mean she _wanted_ him to stop walking away from her? Which, conversely, would mean she wanted him around. Around her. Right? But, even if it were true, what exactly did _that_ mean? Of course he would be around. They were all stuck with each other whether they wanted it or not. So did it mean something . . . more? He was afraid to believe that. He'd already oriented himself on the understanding that Chloe was a friend and could never be more than that. Thinking otherwise would just set himself up for looking like a jackass. She had Simon; the last thing she would want is him muddying up the waters.

_So then why does she spend more time around you than him?_

But that was purely circumstantial. Extreme situations that, unless you were a reality television star, didn't exactly equate with date material. Still, she certainly didn't mind being friends. And couldn't other feelings develop out of that? Weren't healthier relationships _supposed_ to start out as friendships? Did he even want a relationship right now?

_Hell. _He was only confusing himself more. Too many questions and not nearly enough quantifiable information to form conclusions. Not least of which being the one thing he was working to ignore: he'd almost kissed her last night. Did she realize that? Was she . . . upset? Upset because he nearly did? Or upset because he didn't? Which was too heady of a thought to entertain for very long without risking an uncomfortable tightening in his jeans. Because if she _had_ known what he was doing, she hadn't tried to stop him.

Had she? Maybe he came on too strong, intimidated her. Was _that_ why she didn't push him away? And not because . . . . No, Chloe was tougher than that. If she wanted him out of her space, she'd tell him. She wasn't afraid of telling him off when needed. So . . . had she wanted him to kiss her, then? But that wouldn't make any sense because she liked Simon, and he didn't believe she was the kind of girl that played games like that. God, what if she just didn't want to hurt his feelings? His breakfast curdled in his stomach. He'd prefer it if she ran screaming from his room instead of kissing him because she was too nice to turn him down.

"Derek!"

He blinked, eyes focusing on Chloe's face. Her expression told him she tried more than once to get his attention. _Shit, have I been sitting here, staring at her?_ "What?"

"Is something wrong?"

"No, why?" Why was she looking at him like that? In fact, they all were.

She tilted her head to one side, her eyes running thoughtfully over his face. "You were growling at me."

_Fuck. _He looked away, embarrassed. "I was just thinking about something. Spacing off." At least she seemed more perplexed than frightened. He looked at Andrew and saw the man's hands raised slightly, ready to spell-cast. He raised a brow and silently pushed Andrew to make a decision. After a second or two of hesitation, Andrew lowered his hands to the table. Everyone else at the table pretended not to notice.

"Were you paying any attention at all?" Simon teased, intending to break the tension most likely.

He slowly shifted his gaze across the table and glowered at his brother. "Just tell me what you were talking about."

Andrew cleared his throat. "We were discussing the layout of the Edison lab. Simon and Jeff have convinced me that it wouldn't hurt to start compiling everything we know about the facility and staff. When the others arrive we can add their input to what we have and plan from there." Andrew paused before continuing in a carefully non-confrontational tone. "I know you grew up there, before Kit took you in. We were wondering . . ."

Simon leaned forward. "We were wondering how much you remember about it."

_Everything_. "You do remember I was five when Dad adopted me. I doubt I'd be much help. Besides, you guys worked there. Surely you know more than I would."

"Yes, that's true," Andrew soothed. "We just wanted to be thorough. Even as employees, we weren't given free rein of the place, so our info will be piecemeal at best."

Under the table, Derek shifted his legs nervously. He didn't want to talk about this. Hell, he didn't want to think about it. He was more than happy to pretend that his life started at age five. "I don't remember much. Mostly just about the other . . . the other boys."

Andrew sat up immediately. "What about them?"

The intensity behind the question startled Derek, though he kept his expression neutral. "A couple of their faces. Some impressions. Nothing clear, really. I remember that they picked on Simon, but I don't really remember why or how."

Across from him Simon frowned, trying to resurrect some of his own memories. "Something about a sandbox, right? I sort of remember that."

Derek shrugged. "So, yeah. That's about it. Not very useful."

Andrew waved that off. "Yes, well, like I said. We just want to cover every angle."

"Our biggest concern is how much may have changed since we worked for the Group. It would be too much to hope that everything would be the same," Jeff said. "Chloe, if I'm not mistaken, of all of us involved, you and Tori were most recently in the lab."

She looked from one face to another and shrugged. "I suppose so. I was a prisoner and all, so it's not like they showed me much, but I'll tell you what I can."

She told them about the room she was given and visiting Rae and Tori. It wasn't much, and for a brief moment he thought she might have been holding something back. But that thought was easily dismissed. She said it herself—she had been a prisoner, not an invited guest. There wouldn't have been a guided tour.

The talk continued for another twenty minutes while Jeff and Andrew ran through what they remembered. Jeff had located a notepad and put together a running list of details. Sadly, the information they'd put together didn't leave Derek feeling very confident—mostly notes about the science facility and staffing, which wouldn't do them a lot of good in terms of getting in or out. No one present had any real information about the security systems or guards, and the prevailing hope was that one of the resistance members not yet present would have that info.

Derek offered to do the dishes when the impromptu breakfast meeting started to disperse, waving off Simon's offer to help. The chore would give him time alone to think and an excuse to avoid conversation with Chloe. She had tried to catch his eye several times in the last few minutes. Obviously she wanted to talk about the night before, something he'd rather put off until he had his head wrapped around things. So he let the mindless action of scrubbing plates carry his thoughts in the inevitable direction.

On the one hand, it was becoming painfully clear that he couldn't ignore the things he was feeling. Especially when those feelings kept him up at night. On the other hand, he had no idea what to do with those feelings. Nothing in his life had given him a reference for this. Sure, he'd occasionally had the thought that _someday_ he would meet a girl he was attracted to, but that "someday" had always been a distant and abstract concept. He'd never gotten around to thinking about details. So here he was in the lurch. After all, how could he decide on a course of action when he wasn't even sure if action was called for?

His penchant for systematic behavior urged him to simply _ask_ her what she felt and get this whole uncertainty over with. But that idea quickly lost appeal, since her answer could go one of two ways, and those weren't encouraging odds. Still . . . what if it _was _him? He absently dried his hands on a dishtowel, entranced by the thought. For the first time, he allowed himself to truly explore the idea that she might like him like _that_. It would explain her seeking him out last night; it made better sense than the concerned-friend approach he'd sold himself on, anyway. And since the "puberty smackdown" was easing off, that crossed off the number one turn-off he had going for him. Sure, there was the whole werewolf issue, but, amazingly, that didn't seem to bother Chloe one bit. Her own heritage wasn't exactly a walk through the park, so they kind of came out even in that department—a first for him.

He realized he was smiling. He could do this. He could really do this. Be the kind of guy who gets the girl, just like . . . . His elation dimmed. Had he actually forgotten about Simon just now? Was he actually thinking to set himself up as his brother's competition?

But that thought didn't settle well. Chloe wasn't a competition. She wasn't a trophy for him and Simon to chase after. And she'd probably tell them both to shove it if it ever came to that point. Which was why _she_ was the one who needed to take action, here, he realized. She was both intelligent and intuitive, two things in particular that attracted him to her. If Chloe wanted a relationship with him or Simon, she would make her own decisions about it. Simon's interest was plain for all to see, and Derek needed to make his own interest known, to let her know that he was available, so to speak, though without putting himself too far out on a limb—just in case. Then whatever was meant to happen would happen.

Relieved now that he knew _what_ to do, he still had the question of _how_. Well, he'd always been better with action than words. _Play to your strengths_, he'd heard people say. So he should . . . what? Do something for her? Give her a present? Spend more time with her? That last sounded good. Nothing too . . . exposing about hanging out together. But he needed a reason—it wasn't like he could ask her out to a movie or something, which he wouldn't have dared to do, anyway. And it wasn't as if he really knew what she liked to do for fun. He thought of all the time they've spent together and was dismayed to realize it always had to do with his change, her powers, or escaping from one enemy or another. Not exactly the quality time he was looking for. Unless sniffing out roadkill for necromancy practice really was the secret way to a girl's heart.

He suppressed the urge to kick the table since the damage would likely be more than he'd care to explain. He didn't know how to do this. His experience with girls was a basic zip. Zero. Nil. He almost wished he could talk to his brother about it—no one would argue Simon knew more about girls than he ever would—except the idea of asking Simon for advice about Chloe was enough to make him hysterical.

_Come on, genius, think._

There was that time while they were walking to Andrew's house. They'd talked, joked around a little. And even though it was part and parcel of the whole running-for-their-lives thing, it was a time they'd spent together that wasn't _immediately_ related to anything supernatural. So maybe he should invite her to go on a walk with him. He could show her the forest, since he was the only one to have ventured more than a few yards in since arriving. He'd found a stream she might enjoy, and they could try to follow it to its source. That would give them a couple of hours together, alone. Should he try to kiss her again? _No_, he decided after a brief yet uncomfortable foray into fantasy. It was probably too soon for that.

Reassured now that he had a plan, he set out to find her. Fortunately it didn't take more than a few seconds to track her to the living room. Unfortunately, she wasn't alone.

She broke off from what she was saying and smiled when he walked into the room. "Hey, you're just in time."

"In time for what?" he asked, looking from her, to Simon, then back again.

"We're watching _Curse of the Crimson Altar_," she said, clearly delighted by the fact. "It's on in five."

"Yeah, and then after that it's _The Thing._" Simon looked just as happy, sprawled as he was on the loveseat. The one, television-compatible loveseat, where he and Chloe sat together for their movie-fest. And since Derek remembered all too easily how tempting that could be, the anticipatory smile on his brother's face took on a new meaning. Chloe, for her part, either didn't notice or didn't mind the way Simon's arm draped across the back cushion. He'd bet money that Simon noticed but didn't mind how her hair brushed the back of his hand every time she moved.

Suddenly feeling every inch the fool, he knew he had to get out of there before he said or did something to reveal what an idiot he'd almost become. "Uh, sorry, but I was just about to head out."

"But—"

"Enjoy the curse thing," he rushed, already walking out of the room. Simon, he saw, offered no protest and was already resuming their conversation on one of the dozens of things he and Chloe seemed to have in common. By the time he reached the stairs they were chattering away, his presence forgotten.

Derek headed upstairs and spent ten minutes cleaning up the nonexistent mess in his room. He spent another ten in the bathroom with a pair of scissors, tentatively trimming his hair half a millimeter at a time, before giving up the lost cause. As he was organizing the contents of the medicine cabinet he admitted to himself what he was doing—hanging around with one ear trained to the living room below. For the most part, he heard movie dialogue and sound effects. Every now and then, though, he caught a soft laugh or a wry comment, and body strained towards the door . . . until Simon's brasher laugh cut in. Utterly disgusted with himself, he threw on a brand new pair of track pants and crept out the back door as quickly as he could. The last thing he heard before closing the door behind him was Chloe's laughter.

* * *

**A/N: **Okay, now that I've laid some groundwork, things can start picking up, and in more ways than one.


	11. The Best Laid Plans

**A/N:** No, you're not imaging things.

**Disclaimer:** Nothing owned, nothing gained.

* * *

Chapter Nine: The Best Laid Plans

_Derek headed upstairs and spent ten minutes cleaning up the nonexistent mess in his room. He spent another ten in the bathroom with a pair of scissors, tentatively trimming his hair half a millimeter at a time, before giving up the lost cause. As he was organizing the contents of the medicine cabinet he admitted to himself what he was doing—hanging around with one ear trained to the living room below. Utterly disgusted with himself, he through on a brand new pair of track pants and crept out the back door as quickly as he could._

* * * * *

When he came back two hours later, he entered by the front door and told himself it _wasn't_ so he could peak into the living room on his way upstairs. But peak he did, and what he found gave him mixed feelings. The room was empty, the television set off. Apparently _The Thing_ didn't hold the same appeal as curses.

He stood for a moment a listened. The rest of the first floor was abandoned but signs of life could be heard from upstairs. He went up to the second floor and found all the bedroom doors closed. Standing in front of the bathroom—conveniently located between Simon and Chloe's bedrooms—he still heard nothing to indicate either one's presence.

_Doesn't necessarily mean they're together_, he assured himself.

He took a quick shower and rushed back to his room. This time there were no surprise visits waiting for him, and he tried to be relieved instead of disappointed. By the time he was dressed, the only activity in the house was the sound of Tori bitching at Carol up on the third floor, so he made his way back outside. It was a nice afternoon, with a chill in the air but plenty of sun, and he still hoped to take Chloe on that walk. If he could find her. Alone.

The back garden was empty, as was the lawn stretching out into the woods. He didn't see anyone when he came through the front earlier, but he checked again. Still no sight of anyone, but this time he caught a hint of Chloe's scent—and Simon's—going down the porch steps. It was unlikely that they would go down the driveway, so he went around the side of the house and picked up another trace of hair dye, Simon's Right Guard deodorant, and something sweeter below the surface that the wolf knew all too well—a scent that never failed to make him . . . hungry.

He found them in the old fruit grove, sitting side by side on the floor of the gazebo. They didn't notice him right away, so he hung back and took advantage of the opportunity to watch them together. Part of him wanted to cringe at the obvious comfort between them. Anyone looking would have thought they'd been friends for years, not weeks. Derek forced himself to observe objectively, noting how close together they sat, the easy back-and-forth rhythm of their conversation. He also noticed how Simon nudged Chloe's shoulder with his arm. How he reached up to toy with the ends of her hair. How he leaned subtly towards her while she remained upright.

Being a werewolf, it was natural for him to put a lot of stock on body language. Words could say—or not say—all kinds of things, but what people _did_, how they acted, tended to ring more true.

Chloe's actions gave him the confidence to step forward and interrupt their moment, even when Simon looked up with a poorly concealed frown.

"Hey, okay if I join you?" He surprised himself by sounding casual and relaxed. Simon's eyes and deepening frown said all kinds of things he pretended not to see. Chloe's reaction he couldn't decipher as easily, though she nodded assent readily enough. He eased to the floor on her other side.

After an awkward moment Chloe started talking about the latest film releases they were no doubt missing due to their fugitive status. Simon picked up the line of conversation easily, and Derek was cautiously pleased by how well he kept up with the two of them. He may not have an artistic bone in his body, but he could talk about what he liked and didn't like, and he was determined to show Chloe he was as good of company as his brother.

With the ice broken, the rest of the morning passed away until Simon popped to his feet.

"I don't know about you guys, but I need some lunch and pronto. Who's game?"

Chloe smiled but said, "No thanks. I'm not really hungry yet."

"I just ate," Derek lied without hesitation.

The bright expression in Simon's eyes faded a bit, but he smiled and tried again. "You sure?" Derek noticed Simon wasn't exactly talking to him.

"Yeah," Chloe nodded. "I think we'll hang out here for a little more. Go on, though, you shouldn't wait. We'll catch up with you," she added.

Simon gave a shrug as if to say _whatever _and reluctantly left. They watched him walk away, saying nothing, until Simon disappeared around the edge of the grove. Then Chloe turned to Derek, a forthright look on her face.

"Okay, what's up?"

"Huh?" He suddenly wasn't sure if he wanted to be alone with her, after all. Judging by the frown she was giving him, he probably should have taken Simon up on his offer.

"First you ignore me all morning. Now you're offering to hang out and striking up conversations. What's going on?"

He tried for cool innocence. "Nothing is going on. I just wanted to . . . hang out."

"Really?" she asked skeptically.

"Really. Is that so strange?"

"Yes."

"Thanks." He was surprisingly hurt by that, not to mention disheartened. If that was what she thought, then his great idea of spending more time with her clearly wasn't going to work as he'd hoped. Something must have shown on his face because she bit her lip and looked worried.

"Hey, I didn't mean . . ."

"Don't worry about it." He was quickly losing his newly found confidence. Inwardly kicking himself, he reverted back to habit and looked away, saying nothing more. They fell into an uncomfortable silence—a marked difference from the animated conversation she'd had with Simon.

"Derek?"

He grunted an approximation of a response.

"Are you mad at me about something?"

The question was so unexpected that, at first, he could only scowl at her. "What on earth would I be mad at you about?"

"That's what I'd like to know!" she practically shouted, catching him even further off-guard. "I didn't think you were, and last night when . . ." He squirmed when she trailed off. "But then this morning you're all avoiding me, and now that I think about it, you've been avoiding me for days. So you tell me—did I do something? Because if I did, then I'm—"

"No," he said quickly. He hated for her to think she had anything to apologize to him for. "You didn't do anything wrong. I swear."

She looked him in the eye for several charged seconds, as if judging the truth of what he said. "Alright. Then I repeat the original question. What's up?"

Derek hesitated. He could lay it all on the table, tell her how he felt. Maybe even find out how she felt. But he wasn't ready. Her response could make or break him. Sheer panic held him back.

"You didn't do anything," he said again. "Don't ever think that. I'm just not feeling like myself these days." Which was true enough. And without really meaning to, he started to talk, to tell her things he hadn't truly realized were bugging him. "Between the Edison Group after us, the Change, and Dad still missing . . . I really don't know what I'm doing." It was terrifying yet also uplifting to finally admit it.

"What do you mean?"

"It's just . . . it was easier, in a way, before we came here. When it was just Simon and me, and even after you came, I knew what to do then—take care of Simon, find a safe place to stay, eventually find Dad. Then it turns out I made a huge mistake in that, landing us right in the hands of those people. But even later, when we were all on the road, I still knew what to do. Here I'm just . . ." He faltered.

"Waiting," Chloe said, and his shoulders sagged with the truth of that assertion.

"Yeah. Waiting. And I don't think you've noticed, but I'm not exactly a patient guy," he joked weakly. She giggled, and some of the weight lifted from him. If he could make her laugh then maybe he was doing some things right.

"You know, I may have heard a rumor or two about that," she teased.

"Brat." But he smiled, and she playfully bumped her elbow against his arm. They sat side by side, looking out over the grove. This time the silence was companionable, comforting even. Then Chloe turned him.

"So you and Simon still haven't made up yet." It wasn't really a question.

"Obvious, huh?" He shifted, leaning back on his elbows. "We sort of did, actually. I mean, we never really talked about it or anything, but . . ."

"I get the feeling you guys don't fight that often."

"We usually don't, no. Not that we never fight. Kind of a hard thing to avoid when you live with the guy, and I'm no better, I'm sure. This feels different, though."

"How so?"

"I don't know. Wish I did, though. It's like—it's like he's mad at me about something but doesn't want to tell me what. He's usually pretty good about that. He eventually says _something_. So I don't know what to think. Maybe I'm imagining it." He shrugged.

"Well, I hope it gets worked out. Something tells me we're going to need everyone working together." The pessimistic look on her face made his stomach clench.

"Hey," he sat up and put a hand on her arm. "We're going to be all right."

"You sound very confident about that."

"I am. Look, Chloe, I know it feels like an impossible situation. I'm not delusional. But in all the time since this whole thing began, I've come to realize that we have to go in knowing we'll get through it. One way or another. We've made it this far, after all."

"You're right. I know." But she didn't look as if she really believed it.

He placed his hand under her chin and made her look him in the eyes. "We're going to make it through this. I promise."

She considered him silently for a while, and he wondered what she saw when she looked at him. "I believe you," she eventually said, and he knew she meant it.

* * *

A/N: I know. I'm a bad, mean person for leaving this untouched for so long, but I hope you enjoyed the chapter. I'm working on some original fiction, so I make no promises about future updates, but don't give up on me just yet. And let me just say, I greatly appreciate the wonderful reviews everyone's left despite my absence from this story. You've all convinced me to see this one through, if for no other reason than that you've been great readers and deserve a finished story. Thanks.


	12. Waking Up

**Disclaimer:** _Darkest Powers_ isn't mine. But wouldn't that be neat?

* * *

Previously...

_He placed his hand under her chin and made her look him in the eyes. "We're going to make it through this. I promise."_

_She considered him silently for a while, and he wondered what she saw when she looked at him. "I believe you," she eventually said, and he knew she meant it._

**Chapter Ten**: **Waking Up**

"Thank you for agreeing to this."

Jeff's tone was solicitous without being patronizing. It went a long way towards making Derek more comfortable with the one-on-one attention.

Jeff had approached him as he and Chloe were coming in from the garden, asking for an hour of his time. That had actually been the way he'd phrased it, too. _An hour of your time, if I may. _Derek hadn't been too excited about the prospect, but he didn't have a good reason for refusing. Of course, showing Chloe he wasn't _completely_ antisocial might have factored in, too.

"Sure," Derek shrugged. Except I don't really know what _this_ is." He stood at the edge of the room, awkward now that he was supposed to trust someone after so much time spent not trusting anyone. They were on the third floor, in a dusty study he hadn't known about. Not surprising, since it was down the hall from Carol's master suite, and he kept as much space possible between the flinching old woman and himself. There was something about her—besides the obvious—that unsettled him, and not even for Chloe's sake was he willing to spend more time than absolutely necessary in that woman's company.

Jeff smiled in that calming way he had and surprised Derek by sitting down in the middle of the study floor; then again, the natty old sofas bracketing the room didn't look all that inviting.

"Please, get comfortable." Jeff gestured to the open space in front of him. After a second of hesitation, Derek settled on the faded rug, habitually staying just out of reach. He was sure he telegraphed his mistrust with every movement, but, if Jeff noticed, he gave no indication of it.

"Now, the reason I asked you to meet with me is that I think I can be of help."

"Help with what?" Derek asked, always uncomfortable with accepting help but even more so lately. Especially when it came, unsolicited, from people he'd just met.

"Well, you're clearly reaching the point of your first Change, yes?" Jeff frowned a little, concern evident on his face. "Years too early, I'm afraid."

"I'm aware of that." _Shit_, that sounded a little too close to a growl.

"I don't mean to be impolite," Jeff held up a hand in a peace-seeking gesture. "I just wanted to state the fact, get it out in the open."

The words sat between them in silence for a moment as Derek struggled with indecision. Instinct and self-preservation warned him against playing into any trap that may be in the works. But, in truth, Derek was tired. Tired of trying to make the right decisions for everyone, only to get so many things wrong. Important things. He wanted to like Jeff, wanted to trust him, and if Jeff could help him in any way with the wolf part of himself, well, he clearly needed the assistance. "Alright, then. It's open. How are you supposed to help? You're not a werewolf."

"No," Jeff conceded, taking no offense at the bald statement. "But I think you'll find that, in some aspects, one supernatural ability is not unlike any other. What I mean is, my powers—specifically my ability to control those powers—are directly impacted by my emotional and mental state. The same is true of every other supernatural I am acquainted with."

Derek thought about that. What Jeff said certainly seemed to be true, from what he'd seen of Chloe's power. Her ability to see ghosts was apparently always active, no matter what, but her ability to influence ghosts definitely seemed connected to her emotions.

"I guess you're right. But I don't exactly have powers. Not like you, anyway. Being a werewolf isn't the same as casting spells or moving things with my mind." God, if only he'd been born one of those, instead.

"Perhaps, but I expect that the matter of control remains the same. Tell me, if you wouldn't mind, do agitated mental states spur the wolf side of you into activity?"

_Usually_. "Sometimes," he hedged.

"Mm. And it seems likely that strong emotions will affect your ability to control your, ah . . ." Jeff floundered momentarily, obviously searching for the right noun.

"Wolfiness?" Derek suggested, unable to help the slight twitch of his lips.

Jeff smiled. "Yes. Your wolfiness. Would you agree?"

"Makes sense to me." Derek shrugged. "So, what are you trying to tell me? That I need to control my emotions if I want to control the wolf?" Which seemed kind of like a given.

Jeff nodded. "Well, there's that, yes. But I wanted to get a little more philosophical than that. How close are you to Changing?"

Derek shifted nervously. That felt like very personal information to be sharing with a near-stranger. Even Simon didn't really know close he was.

"Almost there. I've had a couple of false starts. And lately . . ." He shook his head. He wasn't about to tell this guy everything. "I think it's going to be very soon."

"I've been told this first Change—and the days that come before it—is rather rather, well . . . uncomfortable," Jeff said carefully.

Derek snorted. "Understatement. But how do you know? Who told you?" Then a horrible thought came to him. He tensed, ready to get to his feet in a second. He eyed the man, trying to evaluate how fast he might be. "Exactly what work did you do for the Edison Group?"

Jeff frowned at the sudden intensity, only to lean back a second later, eyes wide with realization. "Oh, nothing what you must be thinking." He shook his head. "I'm sorry, I should have guess that would be your first thought once I started probing around about your, er, wolfiness." Again came the pacifying hand gestures. "Please relax. I had nothing to do with the werewolf project; I'm not even a scientist. I was just an adviser on demon powers and physiology."

He seemed like he was telling the truth, but Derek wasn't willing to let up just yet.

"So if you're not a scientist, what do you do?"

Jeff smiled, looking relaxed again if not for the worried expression in his eyes. "I'm a bookstore owner. And to the outside world, I'm considered an amateur folklore scholar. Among our own people, I'm a kind of resource. People come to me with questions, and I pick up bits of information along the way."

"And that's how you know so much about werewolves?"

"Yes. I hear things now again about the Pack, and some of the better known rogues, put those pieces together as best as I can. I've even once knew a young werewolf who came to my shop a few times—a pre-Change wolf like yourself."

Again, Derek wanted to trust him. Perhaps _because_ he wanted to, he fought against letting his guard down. "Not quite like me."

"Indeed, no, which is what I wanted to talk about."

"So whatever it is, just tell me already."

"Alright, I'll be frank," Jeff said, giving Derek a look that he'd only ever received from his dad. "I'm worried that the genetic tampering you experienced will impact the Change."

_No news there._ Derek tried to contain his frustration. "In what way?"

Jeff sigh was not encouraging."There's probably no way of knowing for sure until it happens, I'm afraid. We do know it's jumped the usual timeline in your development. Likely you could expect similar effects. Perhaps an intensified experience? If so, to what degree? It's really the lack of knowing that worries me. I don't want to alarm you unduly, but there is a possibility that your Change will be too much for your body to handle. Too stressful. What if the effort sent you into cardiac arrest?" Jeff gave a small shrug. "Even a bad enough case of shock could be fatal under certain circumstances. And these, unfortunately, are not ideal circumstances."

He mulled that over, thinking about his experiences so far. "But it's natural, isn't it? Sort of, anyway. I was born a werewolf. This is what I'm _supposed_ to be." But Jeff just shook his head.

"And again, if it weren't for the experiments--and our current endangerment--I wouldn't be concerned. The fact that you're Changing this early is enough for me to recommend contacting the Pack."

"But we can't."

"Derek—"

"Look, even if the rumors are really just rumors, they're not exactly going to let me go my merry way once they know about me, are they?"

Jeff didn't answer right away. Derek could see in his eyes when he decided against a placating lie.

"No, probably not."

Derek nodded, both because he had already figured that to be the case, and because he appreciated the honesty.

"And I have no interest or intention of becoming Pack, so I need to stay below their radar."

"Are you sure you wouldn't like to join them?" Jeff asked. "It might makes things in your life easier."

"No. I don't need them." _I already have a pack. _But he didn't share that though out loud.

Jeff sighed but nodded. "It's your decision to make. We'll work it out on our own."

"Good. What do we do?"

"Well, I'd recommend keeping someone with you when you Change. If something goes wrong, if you go into shock or arrest, there should be another person on hand. I can imagine it's an intimate thing to go through, that you probably wouldn't want someone looking on, but—"

"Chloe," he blurted out.

"I'm sorry?"

Derek coughed to clear his suddenly tight throat. "Chloe. She's been staying with me during—when I try to Change."

To his credit, Jeff didn't seem freaked out or worried by that at all. "Oh. I see. Good. She strikes me as a level-headed young woman."

"Yeah, she's great." The second the words were out of his mouth, he wanted them back. Jeff just smiled.

"Then she's an excellent choice to have with you during your Change."

"But what if I—" Derek broke off, unwilling to voice the rest of that fear, but Jeff didn't have any problem filling in the blank.

"What if you hurt her? Derek, I'm under the impression that, Change or no, the wolf is always there inside of you. Seeing what you see, knowing what you know." Jeff raised his brows, turning the statement into a question. Derek nodded. "Surely the wolf has had ample time to form an opinion about Chloe."

"What?" An opinion? As in, how the _wolf_ felt about Chloe? Because he really didn't want to talk about how the wolf felt about Chloe.

"I doubt the wolf would consider Chloe a threat or an enemy; you would know if it did. So there should be no reason for the wolf to want to hurt her."

"But how can you be sure? How can _I _be sure?" He tried to hide just how much he needed to know.

"Why don't we find out?"

Derek hesitated, imagining half a dozen different plans Jeff might have had in mind. None of them made him very happy. "How?"

"A little meditative exercise. We relax your human consciousness and allow the wolf to peek through. When that happens, think about Chloe. See what sort of reactions come about."

"Meditate," he repeated unenthusiastically.

Jeff settled more comfortably on the floor, leaning back against one of the sofas."Something every supernatural being should learn to do, if you ask me."

Derek sighed. "Okay, fine. Where do we start?"

"Just get comfortable where you're sitting. Close your eyes." Jeff demonstrated by closing his own eyes and looking relaxed. It was hardly the _ohm_-chanting, pretzel-legged stance Derek envisioned when he thought of meditation.

Derek wiggled around a bit, rolled his shoulders back. He felt a little silly, but if this would really help, he was game. Reluctantly, he closed his eyes. And he only looked twice to make sure Jeff had kept his closed.

"Now just keep your eyes closed and listen to my voice." Jeff spoke plainly. No droning monotone or campy scripts. "Try to open up every one of your senses to their fullest. Take in all the sounds, all the smells around you. But don't analyze or think about what those sensations might mean. Keep your mind blank. Just let everything flow through you, without judgment. Sense it. Acknowledge it. Then let it go."

The first part, opening up his senses, was easy for Derek. On any given day, his senses were super-humanly keen, sometimes to the point of constant distraction. It wasn't until after his dad disappeared that Derek realized how much stimuli he'd trained himself to ignore. It was simply too difficult to concentrate on anything if he paid attention to every conversation in the hallway at school, or looked out the window every time a car drove past. The myriad of smells alone would have made him ill on a daily basis if he hadn't learned to filter out the excess. Once on the run, though, he'd started relying on his sense of hearing and smell almost more than his vision. It hadn't been a deliberate decision, rather it was instinct kicking in, telling him to utilize every available asset in his keeping.

The hard part was keeping his mind blank. Derek knew he tended to over-think things, but he honestly couldn't help himself. Being asked to listen to every sound around him, without reacting to it mentally, went against everything he knew about himself. Even when he was sleeping, one part of his mind tracked the sounds and activity nearby. He couldn't remember the last time he slept all the way through a night. Life as a teenage fugitive certainly hadn't helped, especially with Chloe raising the dead in her sleep. So he'd been living in a constant state of vigilance. He wasn't sure he could turn all that off now.

They must have sat there for an hour, eyes closed and saying nothing, before it finally happened. He'd been listening to a faint skittering on the roof. A distant voice told him it was a squirrel, or maybe a large bird, but he didn't stop to ponder what the squirrel looked like, what it was doing, or whether it was really a bird, after all. The details didn't matter at that moment. He simply followed the sound across the ceiling overhead and was already moving on when some internal switch flipped. Suddenly there was a new quality to the sounds he heard, a clearer tone as if, until that moment, he'd been listening to everything from inside a plastic bubble. Everything was the same yet new, like he was hearing—truly hearing—for the first time. He'd always believed that he lived in a world richer with sensations than that of people around him; now he realized he'd only skimmed the surface. Eyes still closed, the world came to life as never before. He felt rather than saw the room around him, taking in everything at once yet focusing in on one element at a time with the intense precision of a hunter. The faintest hiss every time Jeff took a breath. The rising smell of must as a patch of sun heated a dusty throw pillow. Somewhere in the house, a door opened. Very subtly, the air currents shifted around him, bringing hints of new scents with them.

In time these designations of _air_, _house_, _sun_ lost their meaning. He knew the warmth on his face, even if he didn't understand what a sun was, or even recognize the word. He was beyond the arbitrary limitations of human language. Things simply _were_. Life, the world, simply was.

He was calm. There was no threat right then, nothing to call his attention away from the rightness of being. The presence next to him was neither danger nor food, and he was too content to hunt just for the pleasure of it, so he ignored the occasional movement. It wasn't important. Nothing was important, so he was able to rest in that not-sleep way.

But relaxing into the not-sleep made it possible to hear the voice, the one that demanded control of everything, all the time. The one that kept him tightly constrained behind a wall of dispassionate words and rigid will. That voice was trying to overwhelm him, to take back this precious moment of freedom.

He would not allow that to happen.

He braced himself for the struggle, dug his claws in deep so that he would not be easily pushed away. Then with a spike of determination, he began to push back. He maintained his ground and slowly gained more. The voice grew louder in panic, yelling angry words he didn't fully understand, didn't want to understand. All he cared about was breaking loose, freeing himself completely for the first time from this shackle of fear and shame. Only then could he become what he was meant to be.


End file.
